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QUEER BONNETS. 








































































































































QUEER BONNETS; 

OR, 

CnttjjfttltU03 anil d&mrnattij. 

A BOOK FOR GIRLS. 


BY 


MRS. L. C. TUTHILL, 

AUTHOR OF u BRAGGADOCIO,” “ I’LL BE A GENTLEMAN,” “ I’LL BE 
A LADT,” ETC., ETC. 

v At^oLiAjA (Hv ‘TLctf 

U 


NEW YORK: 

CHARLES SCRIBNER, 145 NASSAU STREET. 

1853. 





&«> 

3 




Entered, according ta Act of Congress, in the rear 1S52, fcj 
CHARLES SCRIBNER, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for tkn 
Southern District of New York. 


Hts A MQtfd+r 

m 1 5 19D50D 

5 

Copy .... 


C. W. BENEDICT, 
Sterkotyper and Prints®, 
201 "William Street. 


^ , VA-GAv 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

file Old Straw Bonnet, 

CHAPTER II. 


fhe Gold Ring, - 


CHAPTER III. 
bailie’s Superstition, - 


CHAPTER IV. 


Sweet Jenny Brice, 


\ 






CHAPTER V. 




page 

11 


- 17 


26 


32 


The China Milk- Jug, 


38 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VI. 

The Purple Velvet Bonnet, - 

PAGE 

. 49 

CHAPTER VII. 

The District School, - - 

- - 57 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The French Baker, - 

- 69 

CHAPTER IX. 

✓ 

The Blue Gingham Bonnet, - 

- 72 

CHAPTER X. 

Evelina Anderson, - 

- 77 

CHAPTER XI. 

Fairbank, - - 

- SI 

CHAPTER XII. 


The Pink Silk Bonnet, - 

- 86 

CHAPTER XIII. 

An Unexpected Visitor, - - - 

- 103 


CONTENTS. Vii 

PAGK 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Generosity, - - - - - - - -108 

CHAPTER XV. 

Fat Frisk, 115 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Jenny’s Bouquet, - - - - - _ -121 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Black Pony, - - - - - - -124 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A Ride that was not Pleasant, - - - - - 133 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A Rejected Proposal, - - - - - - -147 

CHAPTER XX. 

Change for the Better, - - - - - -152 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Awkwardness and Discontent, - - - - - 158 

CHAPTER XXII. 


A Day at Fairbank, 


175 


viii 


CONTENTS. 


PAGH 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Runaways, - -- -- -- - 186 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Mr. Newton’s Story, ------- 202 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Mrs. Nazy, - -- -- -- - 211 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

An Unpleasant Rencontre, ------ 215 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

The Howard Orphan Asylum, ----- 221 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A Welcome at Cherricot, ------ 236 

CHAPTER XXIX 


A New Arrival, - 243 

CHAPTER XXX. 

The Decided Miss Wentworth, ----- 254 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


A Happy Discovery, - 


270 


CONTENTS. 


IX 


CHAPTER XXXII. 
Recollections of Childhood, - 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Sabrina’s Party, - 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


PAGE 

276 


280 


The Wise Grandmother, 


291 






































• . 






QUEER BONNETS. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE OLD STRAW BONNET. 

u It’s a good-for-nothing old bonnet, any 
how,” said Sallie Sabor. 

The bonnet was a dingy yellow straw one, 
trimmed with a faded pink ribbon. It was not 
on Sallie’s head, though she was its rightful 
owner, but hung dangling on the waving branch 
of a large elm-tree. Sallie had thrown it at a 
curious bird’s nest, built the year before by a 
fire-hang-bird.* 

The children shouted to see nest and bonnet 
swinging together, high in air, on a leafless 
branch of the great elm. 

“ Let’s fetch her down. Here goes!” ex- 
claimed Harry Thomson, scaling a stone at the 
* The Baltimore Oriole. 


12 


QUEER BONNETS. 


unlucky bonnet. Sweet Jenny Brice seized 
his arm, crying, “No, no ; pray don’t tear poor 
Sallie’s bonnet.” The entreaty came too late. 
The stone had gone right through the crown of 
the old bonnet. 

“ I don’t care,” shouted Sallie, “ the old thing 
is just fit for a scare-crow ; it will frighten the 
birds from your grandmother’s cherries, Jenny.” 

The elm stood on one side of Mrs. Brice’s 
cottage, and on the other side a large cherry- 
tree spread itself over the low roof and suggest- 
ed the name of the cottage ; — Cherricot. 

“But you have no bonnet, Sallie. What 
will you do ?” enquired Jenny, earnestly. 

“ Go bareheaded, and get a fine scolding,” 
said poor Sallie, as she was called, and off she 
started, her long, dark hair streaming after her 
like a cloud driven by the wind. 

By this time other boys from school came 
along, and seeing Harry Thomson throwing 
stones at the bonnet, joined in the sport, until 
it fell to the ground, torn to tatters, but still 
hanging together. 

“ Hurra for the scarecrow !” shouted Harry 
Thomson, taking it up on the end of a small 


THE OLD STRAW BONNET. 


13 


rattan, which he sported for a cane, and scam- 
pering off, followed by a troop of noisy school 
children. 

u Poor Sallie ! she is always getting into 
trouble,” thought Jenny Brice, as she opened 
the little white gate and went through the 
yard in front of Cherricot. 

A neat cottage is no uncommon thing ; 
indeed cottages are oftentimes neater through- 
out, than splendid mansions ; but Mrs. Brice’s 
cottage was a model of neatness for the whole 
village of Snowton. Not a speck or - soiled 
spot was ever seen on the floors or windows ; 
not an atom of dust seemed to find its way 
within the walls ; yet there was nobody to keep 
it in order but Mrs. Brice and Jenny, with the 
occasional help of Poll Dobson — -and nobody 
in the world to put it out of order. 

Cherricot boasted only two rooms and a 
garret. One of these rooms was a large 
kitchen, the other served for parlor and bed- 
room ; besides, a pleasant hall or entry, with a 
staircase, led through the cottage to a dear 
little garden behind it. The kitchen floor was 
covered with a nice green and red home-made 


14 


QUEER BONNETS. 


carpet ; tlie dark mahogany tables and the 
huge chest of drawers with its brass handles, 
shone with the polish given by a century of 
hard rubbing. 

As Jenny stepped into the kitchen, Mrs. 
Brice was hanging the tea-kettle over a bright 
fire in a wide chimney place which spread half 
across the side of the room. Those immense 
chimney-comers in which a whole family could 
cuddle about the fire are now seldom seen. 
Mrs. Brice, after many changes of abode, was 
pleased at length to be sheltered in the same 
nook where she had climbed her father’s knee, 
before the American Be volution. 

“ Oh grandma’, grandma’, why didn’t you 
wait till I came home !” exclaimed Jenny, “ I 
can’t bear to see you putting on the kettle.” 

Mrs. Brice was lame, and as she held the 
kettle in one hand, she leaned with the other 
on an ivory-headed cane. 

“ You are later than usual, my child,” said 
the grandmother, turning towards a tall, 
mahogany clock in one corner of the room. 
The dignified clock, as if politely answering 
the enquiry, struck six clear strokes. 


THE OLD STRAW BONNET. 


15 


Jenny then busied herself about setting the 
tea-table, and as she did so told the pitiful story 
of the old straw bonnet ; as she ended, she 
said, “ Poor Sallie ! Mrs. Macer will give her 
a dreadful scolding.” 

“ That will do little good to Sallie, though 
she deserves correction. The girl is very care- 
less, and I suppose provokes Mrs. Macer to 
anger,” was the cool remark of the grand- 
mother. 

“ But grandma’, poor Sallie is so generous 
and good-hearted that I do love her dearly, and 
I think Mrs. Macer is very cruel to her.” 

Jenny had now spread the table and placed 
upon it nice brown bread, yellow butter, cheese 
and honey. She then poured tea into blue 
china cups and sat down to the cheerful meal 
with her venerable grandmother. 

Mrs. Brice, seated in her large arm-chair by 
the table, folded her hands and asked a bless- 
ing. 

Coarse as was her black dress, and plain as 
was her muslin cap, any one accustomed to 
observe manners, would have said that Mrs. 
Brice had acquired habits of good breeding in 


16 


QUEER BONNETS. 


early life, which no change of outward circum- 
stances could destroy. Jenny’s manners were 
equally lady-like, though they had a peculiar 
primness and old-fashioned ceremoniousness, 
caught from her grandmother. 

While Mrs. Brice and Jenny were enjoying 
their evening meal, a different scene might 
have been witnessed at the other end of the 
long street of the village. 


^CHAPTER II. 

THE GOLD RING. 

Mrs. Macer rented a large parlor in an old 
tumble-down house, which had once upon a 
time been the pride of Snowdon. That time 
v r as, however, long, long ago. Now, the main- 
staircase had fallen down and all the rooms, 
excepting Mrs. Macer’s, were in so dilapidated 
a condition as to be uninhabitable. One old 
lumber room under the eaves of the decayed 
mansion was Sallie’s sleeping-room, to wdiich 
she ascended by a ladder. 

The large parlor, according to the custom of 
Former times, had been shut up, excepting on 
high days and holidays, and had, therefore, 
not fallen into the ruinous condition of the rest 
of the house. The three windows in front 
2 


18 


QUEER BONNETS. 


were broken and mended with putty and paper, 
but still tbe heavy cornice showed here and 
there that it had once been richly gilded, and 
the carved mantel-piece had been the proud 
w r ork of some city artist. The dark, soiled 
paper on the walls illustrated Cod^s Yoyages, 
and represented groups of savages, dancing, 

' fishing, or fighting — ships, boats and canoes — 
tall, tropical trees, and gorgeous fruits, flowers, 
and birds. This paper gave a wild, strange 
air to the apartment, which was not lessened by 
its furniture. In one corner was a bed, and 
before it a tall screen covered with Chinese 
paper, representing a Chinese garden. The 
only cupboard or closet the room could boast 
was a set of wooden shelves covered with an 
old, tattered, damask curtain. Then there was 
a dressing-table with a cracked looking-glass ; 
half a dozen chairs of different patterns and 
sizes, and a ragged hair-cloth sofa. Dresses of 
various colors and fabrics hung against the 
wall, in friendly nearness to brooms, gridiron 
and frying-pan. 

Over the mantel-piece were two grim por- 
traits, blackened with smoke, with their eye 


THE GOLD RTNCt. 


19 


fiercely fixed upon the occupants of the room ; 
and over them was suspended a strip of yellow 
satin, upon which was embroidered in red 
letters, “ Honor thy father and thy mother 
which motto was to inform the beholder that 
these respectable personages were the parents 
of Mrs. Macer. 

That lady was reclining upon the aforesaid 
ragged sofa, reading a greasy, yellow-covered 
novel from the Circulating Library, when 
Sallie rushed into the room and hastily closed 
the door. She was heated with running, and 
her face and clothing were covered with dust. 

Mrs. Macer, without raising her eyes from 
the book, exclaimed, “ Don’t slam that door so 
unmercifully ! oh my poor, poor nerves ! Hark ! 
what is all that hurrah about !” 

Shouts of riotous merriment were heard, and 
soon the school children, with Harry Thomson 
at their head, were in front of the house, which 
stood directly on the street. There was a 
rattling at one window, and Mrs. Macer looked 
uj3 and saw the ragged remnants of Sallie’s 
bonnet coming through a broken pane. 

“I have mended your window,” shouted 


20 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Harry Thomson, as he ran off, followed by the 
whole noisy troop. 

.“What is that, Sallie?” demanded Mrs. 
Macer, pointing to the strange mending to the 
window. 

“My old bonnet, ma’am” — a^d Sallie told 
the whole story exactly as it happened ; for 
Sallie was truthful as the sun. 

Mrs. Macer started from the sofa in a fit of 
momentary rage and boxed the girl’s ears. 
Sallie colored deeply, partly with anger and 
partly from the effects of the blow, but she did 
not shed a single tear. She drew the torn 
bonnet from the window and threw it on some 
coals which lay upon the hearth, the fire 
having nearly gone out. Mrs. Macer had 
resumed her place on the sofa, book in hand ; 
she tossed the book across the room and 
snatched the bonnet from the hearth ; as she 
did so, the dry straw caught, blazed, and set 
fire to the sleeve of her gown. She dropped 
the blazing mass and was running towards the 
door. Sallie, with wonderful presence of mind, 
kicked the straw into the fire-place, caught a 


THE GOLD KING. 


21 


cloak from the wall and throwing it over Mrs. 
Macer, extinguished the flame. 

“ Oh you have spoiled my best cloak,” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Macer, as soon as she had thrown 
off the garment, “ my beautiful blue cloak !” 

“ I have saved your life, marm,” said Sallie, 
as she saw a large hole in the gown, which had 
caught from the sleeve. 

“ But you have ruined my cloak, my beloved 
cloak,” continued Mrs. Macer, examining the 
lining of her blue silk cloak, which was of red 
flannel. It was only slightly scorched. When 
that was ascertained, Mrs. Macer discovered 
that her arm was burned. No sooner did 
Sallie see that Mrs. Macer w r as suffering pain, 
than the anger she had felt was gone from her 
generous heart, and she flew for cotton and oil 
for the burn, and soon had it as nicely ban- 
daged as the surgeon of the village could have 
done it. 

“ Sallie ! Sallie ! your carelessness will be 
the death of me yet,” said Mrs. Macer, still 
smarting from the burn. 

“You need supper; you are tired and 
hungry,” replied Sallie kindly, “ rest yourself on 


22 


QUEER BONNETS. 


the sofa, and I will get tea for yon in a 
minute.” 

Easier said than done, Sallie. The poor girl 
had first to split wood with a dull axe from a 
tough log, "before she could make a fire. Then 
there was only a sprinkling of tea-dust in the 
tea-canister; there was no butter and only a 
crust- of stale bread. So Sallie was sent for 
tea, sugar and butter, to the grocer’s — and for 
bread and tea cakes to the baker’s — without 
money to pay for them — they must all be 
charged on account,. 

Sallie soon came home with the tea, sugar 
and butter — but the baker would not let her 
have the bread and tea-cakes, saying he could 
not let Mrs. Macer have any more without she 
paid up her account. 

Mrs. Macer called the baker hard names and 
said she would patronize him no longer, Sallie 
might go across the street to the new French 
baker. 

Sallie . — I will, marm, if you will give me 
some pennies. 

Mrs. M . — I haven’t a penny in the house, 
and shall not have one until next week ; tell 


THE GOLD RING. 


23 


him to charge Mrs. Macer with a loaf of bread 
and a dozen tea-cakes. 

Sallie . — He is a stranger — perhaps he will 
not know who you are. 

Mrs. Macer . — Tell him the lady could not 
make the change this evening, but will send it 
over to-morrow or next day. 

This was a trying errand for a girl who 
always told the plain truth ; but Sallie ran 
across the street. 

The new French baker understood but little 
English, but the bow-window in front of his 
little shop filled with white rolls, twisted bread, 
brown as a nut, and tempting tea-cakes, proved 
that he understood baking. 

A little man in a red shirt and green baize 
jacket, with a paper cap on his head, stood 
behind the counter of the well-lighted shop. 
So comical did he appear to Sallie, that for a 
moment she forgot her errand and stood gazing 
at him. 

“ Come you for look at me ?” said the French 
baker — “ I sharge you von cent for every wink 
of your eye.” 


24 


QUEER BONNETS. 


“ No, sir,” said Sallie very humbly, “ I want 
to buy a dozen tea-cakes and a loaf of bread.” 

“ Oh, dat is it ! Yisli cake vill you have ?” 

Sallie pointed out the tea-cakes and the baker 
counted out thirteen. 

“ Only twelve,” said Sallie. 

“ But I gib treize for de dozen, leetle miss.” 

“ And that loaf of bread,” said Sallie, point- 
ing to a twisted loaf. 

“ Oui, oui ; yes, yes.” 

While the baker was putting up the bread 
and cakes in nice wrapping paper, Sallie was 
troubled and frightened, and when he handed 
them to her she stood silent, trembling from 
head to foot. 

“ De monies,” said he, holding out his hand. 

“ The lady hasn’t the money this evening, 
but if you will trust her she will send it to you 
in a few days. 

“ No monies ! Den no breads, no cakes. 
Gib dem to me.” 

“But Mrs. Macer will certainly pay for 
them,” continued Sallie, the big tears rolling 
over her cheeks. 

“ Were lives de lady ?” 


THE GOLD KING. 


25 


Sallie pointed to the old tumble-down house 
across the street. The baker looked at it and 
shook his head ; then he speered at Sallie with 
his small twinkling grey eyes, and seemingly 
quite disgusted with her dirty face and hands, 
and still dirtier dress, hastily snatched the 
parcel from her and replaced the bread and 
cakes in the window. 

The poor child sorely troubled, happened to 
think of a plain gold ring she wore on her 
finger. 

“ I will leave this ring with you,” said she, 
“ till the lady can pay you the money.” 

“ Yell, veil, you vants de breads and de 
cakes ver’ bad, me tink — me keeps de ring; 
ven you payez de monies, you hab him den.” 

Glad to succeed at any rate, Sallie hastened 
home, and Mrs. Macer enjoyed her tea, bread 
and cakes, without questioning poor Sallie how 
she had obtained them. 


CHAPTER III. 


sallie’s superstitions. 

While Mrs. Macer was sipping her tea, 
enjoying her supper, and at the same time 
reading her novel, poor Sallie was sitting out 
doors on a large stone. This stone stood by 
the back door of the old house and served as a 
“ repentance stool” to the girl, when she had 
done wrong. 

It was a cold evening in March, and there 
sat Sallie in the midst of all the tubs, pails, 
brooms and mops of the house, looking up at 
the moon, over her left shoulder. Great tears 
went sparkling in its light over her cheeks, and 
frequent sobs came from her troubled boson^ 
Sallie when seated upon the repentance stone 
frequently pitied herself, and gave vent to her 
pity in words ; she now exclaimed : 


sallie’s superstitions. 


27 


“ Poor me — poor me ! The moon over my left 
shoulder — bad luck — bad luck ! Friday, too ! 
no wonder I have been so dreadfully unlucky 
to-day. Oh dear, dear, dear ! I ought not to 
have let that ring go from my finger ; — it was 
my own dear mother’s wedding ring. How 
well I remember when she gave it to me. It 
was just as she was going to die. She put out 
her leetle white hand and dropping it into mine 
said, ‘ Don’t ever part with that ring,’ — and 
then she said something I don’t quite remember, 
about her name and my father’s inside. Poor 
me ! she left me all alone in the world when I 
was only five or six years old. I remember the 
great bed and the white curtains, and how cold 
her hand felt when the ring slid off her thin 
finger into my fat hand.” Here Sallie shud- 
dered and sobbed violently. “ I have always 
kept the ring safe before, (you know I have, 
mother,) and never put it on till last Friday. 
Oh dear, dear, dear !” 

Mrs. Macer now called Sallie to clear away 
the table and take her own supper, but Sallie 
was too sorrowful to eat. Mrs. Macer was too 
much absorbed in the last pages of her novel 


28 


QUEER BONNETS. 


to observe what the poor girl was doing, or that 
she went to bed supperless. 

Sallie did not consider that her present 
troubles had come about of her own careless- 
ness and thoughtlessness. If she had not 
thrown her bonnet at the bird’s nest it would 
not have been torn to pieces and thrust in at 
the window. If she had not thrown it in the 
fire, Mrs. Macer would not have been burnt. 
If Mrs. Macer had not been burnt she might 
have eaten the dry bread and drank weak tea 
for supper; or if she had not, Sallie under 
other circumstances would not have parted with 
the ring for Mrs. Macer’s comfort. But Sallie 
did not reason thus ; she always excused her 
own carelessness, by calling it “ bad luck.” It 
is as silly a way, and perhaps as wicked, as to 
lay all the sins one commits to the devil, when 
they originate in the heart, and are deliberately 
acted out in the life. 

The roof of the old-fashioned house sloped 
down behind to one low story, although it was 
two stories in front. This story was now called 
4C the back shed,” and only used for a wash 
room ; above was a garret room, lighted by 


sallie’s superstitions. 


29 


one dormer window — a window which ran 
out of the sloping roof so far, that it would 
have given very little light even if the panes 
of glass had all been whole^ but as they were 
more than half covered with paper, the blessed 
light of day seldom penetrated into Sallie’s 
forlorn bedroom. From one generation to 
another, this garret had been the place where 
decayed, useless furniture which might better 
have been burnt, had been stored. There were 
tall, dark, looking-glass frames with broken bits 
of mirror still in the corners — broken-backed 
and broken-legged chairs — dilapidated tables 
with monstrous claw feet — high chests of 
drawers with their brass handles still gleaming 
from dark corners. 

The rats had long held undisputed possession 
of this apartment when Sallie was placed there 
with them as tenant in common; — there was 
very little hope of their giving up their old 
rights to the new comer. Poor Sallie, though 
weary with work, and sleepy as all children 
are, could not, for many weeks after she had 
occupied that dismal apartment, lose herself in 
sleep for many miserable hours after she had 


30 . QUEER BONNETS. 

lain down in her wretched cot-bed. There she 
would lie with her head under the bed-clothes, 
breathing hard, and listening to the rats who 
raced about the garret. Besides this, poor 
Sallie was afraid of ghosts, and when the dim 
light of the moon occasionally struggled 
through the broken panes and fell upon those 
tall looking-glass frames, Sallie shuddered with 
terror and was ready to shriek with agony. 

After awhile she became accustomed to 
every object in the room, till at last she consid- 
ered them good quiet friends who rendered her 
room less lonely. The rats, too, as they never 
harmed her, became a subject for frequent 
speculation. She wondered what kind of a 
life they led — how they found food when there 
was such a scarcity of provisions in the house 
— how they could climb up the old broken 
ladder which led to her apartment — whether 
their squealings were understood by each other 
— and a multitude of other speculations. 

When the wind blew violently, the bricks 
from the tall old chimney would come rattling 
down upon the roof at night, and Sallie would 
then lie trembling for hours, and her fear of 


sallie’s superstitions. 


31 


ghosts would return. The tall looking-glasses 
would again seem to her the spirits of the 
departed, who still lingered where they had so 
frequently looked in their life time. Even in 
broad daylight, Sallie was sometimes afraid to 
arrange her hair before one of those same tall 
dark frames, with its piece of broken glass at 
the top, although it was her only mirror. Poor 
Sallie, in short, was painfully superstitious. 


CHAPTER IV. 


SWEET JENNY BRICE. 

The cheerful contentment of Mrs. Brice’s 
fireside w T as truly beautiful. There sat the 
dear old lady in her comfortable arm-chair, 
knitting a pair of white cotton stockings for 
Jenny. 

By her stood a small round table on which 
were two candles in bright brass candlesticks. 
On a low seat the other side of the table, sat 
Jenny Brice, braiding straw. 

Was Jenny Brice pretty? asks the youthful 
reader. 

She was so constantly kind, affectionate and 
obedient, and so industrious and cheerful that 
there was no opportunity for an ugly expression 
to fix itself upon her countenance. Its winning 


SWEET JENNY BRICE. 


33 


sweetness could not fail to please the beholder. 
It is true that her light hair did not curl in 
graceful ringlets, but it was kept combed and 
brushed neatly, and the forehead over which it 
was parted was smooth and fair. Her healthy 
red lips, too, when moved by a smile, disclosed 
a set of regular teeth, as pure and clean as the 
inside of a cocoanut. 

“ Grandma’,” said Jenny, “ now please give 
me a Bible picture to guess.” 

“ Let me think a moment,” replied the 
grandmother, allowing her knitting to rest for 
a while — then resuming it, she said : — 

Well : I see a fair and beautiful youth sitting 
beneath a wide-spreading tree which shelters 
him from the slanting rays of the rising sun. 
A shepherd’s crook and scrip (a small bag of 
provisions for the day,) lie beside him. In front 
of him the ground slopes gently to a wide 
green meadow, where a flock of sheep are 
feeding. Through this beautiful meadow winds 
a clear river, with water-loving flowers and 
drooping willows mirrored upon its smooth 
surface. In the distance, are high dark moun- 
tains with rough, broken passes between them. 


34 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Ah ! the shepherd boy is playing on a simple 
instrument of music something like a flageolet. 
He lays it down upon the grass and looks 
earnestly upon the fresh green meadow dotted 
over with the white sheep. How he lifts his 
glistening eyes to Heaven and laying his hand 
upon his heart, says : 

44 The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not 
want ; he maketh me to lie down in green 
pastures ; he leadeth me by the still* waters.” 

44 Oh grandma’, grandma’, I know — it was 
David !” exclaimed Jenny, 44 What a beautiful 
picture ! Only think how that shepherd boy 
became a mighty king ! Do you think, grand- 
ma’, he w T as as happy when he lived in his 
splendid palace as he was when he made that 
sweet psalm ?” 

44 1 do not think he was ; but God called him 
from following the sheep to be a king, and 
although his taste and genius rendered a mag- 
nificent palace a fit habitation for him, I do not 
think he ever slept as sweetly there, as he did 
in the homely dwelling of his father, for 


{ Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.’ ” 


SWEET JENNY BRICE. 


35 


“ I would not like to be a queen,” said Jenny, 
thoughtfully. 

“ If the good Providence of your Heavenly 
Father had called you to that estate, you would 
have been obliged to do your duty in it, as you 
now do in the humble condition which He has 
mercifully alloted to you. The trials of pros- 
perity are often more difficult to endure with a 
Christian spirit than those of adversity.” 

“ Oh how thankful I ought to be ! I have 
everything I want — excepting” — here Jenny 
stopt. 

“ What is the exception, my dear child ?” 

U I should like to buy poor Sallie a new 
bonnet,” replied Jenny, with some hesitation, 
u and you know, grandma’, I have not the 
money to spare. The braid that I am to sell 
will only buy a spring bonnet for myself, and 
pay for our next quarter’s sugar and tea.” 

“ Sallie is a careless, idle girl,” said Mrs. 
Brice, with some severity. 

“ But then she has no good grandmother as 
I have, to teach her to do right. I am sure I 
can’t help pitying her,” and the two bright 
tears that fell upon Jenny’s straw, were more 


36 


QUEEK BONNETS. 


precious in the sight of angels than diamonds 
of Golconda. 

“ She deserves pity, poor thing,” replied 
Mrs. Brice, in a softened tone of voice. “ What 
would you wish to do, my own J enny ?” 

“ I have been thinking that I could go with- 
out tea and sugar for the next three months, 
and then I could buy Sallie a bonnet.” 

The old lady took off her spectacles and 
wiped them — they had suddenly grown dim — 
she wiped her eyes, too, for they were troubled 
for the moment with moisture. 

Mrs. Brice did not praise Jenny for this act 
of self-denial, but simply said, “ the money you 
earn is your own, do with it as you like ; only 
I advise you to buy Sallie a plain sun-bonnet.” 

“ Thank you, thank you, grandma,” said 
Jenny, as her fingers flew more nimbly over 
the straw she was braiding. 

When the tall clock struck nine, the work 
w T as laid aside, and Jenny spread the large 
Family Bible upon the table. 

“ You may read one of David’s Psalms to- 
night, Jenny ; one which he probably wrote 
when he was a king — the forty-first psalm. 


SWEET JENNT BRICE. 


3T 


And Jenny read, “ Blessed is lie that consid- 
ered the poor ; the Lord will deliver him in 
time of trouble,” &c. 

Then they knelt together, and the grand- 
mother devoutly offered up the Evening Prayer. 
Sweet and refreshing was the sleep, that fol- 
lowed their peaceful, loving “good night.” 


/ 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE CHINA MILK JUG. 

Sallie never went to school on Saturday; 
that was the day for “ putting things to rights,” 
according to Sallie’s phraseology — the day for 
“ redding up,” as Mrs. Macer termed it. 

Mrs. Macer’s arm did not prove badly burnt, 
but it was a sufficient apology for lying all day 
on the sofa, and for reading another novel. 
When Sallie was ordered to go for it to the 
Circulating Library, a mile off, she said, 

“ What am I to do for a bonnet, marm ?” 
u Put your apron over your head and run as 
fast as you can,” replied Mrs. Macer, “ but first 
climb up to the top of those shelves and hand 
me the large band-box there. Pll find you a 


THE CHINA MILK JUG. 


39 


bonnet for to-morrow, though you don’t deserve 
one.” 

Sallie, with the aid of two chairs, climbed to 
the top of the high shelves covered with the 
tattered crimson curtain, and on the topmost, 
seized hold of a dusty band-box. Down it 
tumbled to the floor, and out rolled china and 
glass-ware, artificial flowers, bonnet, &c., &c. 
Crash went cologne bottles and wine-glasses. 

u Never was there so careless a hussey, on 
earth,” exclaimed the angry lady , “ out of my 
sight.” 

Sallie gladly obeyed; threw a dirty apron 
over her head, and ran off to the Circulating 
Library, with Harry Thomson and half a dozen 
other school-boys in full chase, crying, 

u Poor Sallie ! Poor Sallie ! Where did you 
get your nice veil i” 

Mrs. Macer found, on examination, that 
nothing had been broken but two cologne 
bottles,' and three or four wine glasses. 

u Not so bad after all !” she said to herself ; 
“ but Sallie shall wear this fright of a bonnet 
to pay for it.” And Mrs. Macer shook the dust 
from an immense purple velvet bonnet, with 


40 


QUEER BONNETS. 


a forepiece like a huge coal-scuttle. Mrs. 
Macer laughed outright at the contrast between 
this once fashionable bonnet and the one she 
was now wearing, with scarcely any forepiece 
at all. To add to the ugliness of the purple 
velvet bonnet, there were several yellow stains 
upon it, and a bunch of forlorn artificial flowers 
on one side of the crown. 

Mrs. Macer straitened out the crooked wire, 
and chuckled over the idea of how poor Sallie 
would look under that immense scoop. She 
then gathered up the contents of the band -box, 
and in spite of her burnt arm, replaced it on 
the topmost shelf. 

When Sallie returned with the novel she was 
surprised to. find Mrs. Macer in 
She made no allusion to the fall 
box, but seizing the book, was soon so entirely 
lost in its contents, as not to notice the stir that 
was going on in her best parlor. 

Sallie, in order to “ put things lo rights,’* 
whirled everything out of place, in most mar- 
vellous confusion. The old Brussels carpet was 
ragged and dirty, and the broom being worn 
down to a stump, raised clouds of dust which 


goo|L humor, 
of the band 


THE CHINA MILK JUG. 


41 


settled over the confused heaps of clothing, 
cooking utensils and furniture promiscuously 
heaped together. Mrs. Macer now and then 
coughed, as the dust found its way to her 
throat, but did not seem aware of the cause. 

Sallie was very much given to speculation. 
“ Where on earth does alL this dirt come 
from ?” thought she. “ It does seem as if some 
spiteful being scattered it about this house, just 
to plague me. I do believe the house is 
haunted by a dirt-spirit.” 

After several hours of hard work, the various 
articles which had been turned out of their 
resting-places were restored in nearly the same 
condition that they were before, excepting that 
the dust from the carpet was now copiously 
sprinkled over them. 

“ Now I will dab up the hearth and scour 
the handirons with sand, and then we shall be 
all ready for Sunday,” muttered Sallie to her- 
self. 

“ Oh, yes ; to-morrow is Sunday,” said Mrs. 
Macer, catching the last word; “ Sallie you 
may black my shoes, and darn my silk stock- 
ings, and wash out a collar and pair of cuffs, 


42 


QUEER BONNETS. 


and see that you starch and iron them 
nicely.” 

Sallie. — Yes, marm ; after dinner I can do 
those chores. It is dinner-time now. 

Mrs. Macer . — I shall have dinner and tea 
together, to-day. 

Sallie . — It is very well that you do, marm, 
for we haven’t a mite of anything in the house 
but what is left from our breakfast. 

Mrs. Macer . — I wish you would not inter- 
rupt me in the most interesting part of my 
book. Go on about your business, and when 
I have finished this horrible story, I will have 
my tea-dinner. 

The poor girl was tired and hungry, she 
sighed heavily and went on with her work. 

In about two hours after, Mrs. Macer, having 
finished the book, said she had a ravenous 
appetite and Sallie must run to the grocer’s 
for two pounds of ham. 

Sal lie had not gone far when she came up with 
Jenny Brice, going the same way, and walking 
very slowly, with a china bowl in her hands. 

Sallie . — How d’ye do, Jenny ? What makes 
you creep along so ? 


THE CHINA MILK .TUG. 43 

Jenny. — I am afraid of 'spilling this hot 
gruel. 

Sallie. — Hot gruel ! Where are you going 
with your gruel, darling ? And what have you 
got in that sweet little basket ? 

Jenny. — I am going to see poor Mrs. Malony. 
She is very ill. 

Sallie. — And the little basket has in it some- 
thing nice for Mrs. Malony. 

Jenny. — Only two oranges and a few apples. 
Will you have one, Sallie. Help yourself, if 
you will, for I cannot let go the bowl. 

Sallie. — Me ! take an orange or an apple 
from a poor, sick woman ! Why, Jenny Brice, 
do you take me for a glutton ! 

Jenny. — Oh, no, Sallie ; indeed I do not ; 
you are quite welcome to take one, if you will ; 
grandma’ has more laid by for the sick. 

Sallie. — Mrs. Macer says your grandmother 
is a stingy woman ; I don’t believe a word of 
it. 

Jenny. — Thank you for that, Sallie. My 
grandma’ is industrious and economical ; but 
she is generous, too. Every Saturday she lets 


44 


QUEER BONNETS. 


something to give away, though she is not 
rich. 

Sallie . — Oh dear, dear, I wdsh I had a good 
grandmother. I haven’t anybody in the world 
to love me, Jenny. 

Here the roads they were going parted, and 
Sallie having lingered w T ith Jenny, ran as fast 
as she could, to make up for lost time. 

Jenny soon came to a miserable-looking 
shanty, with only one window in front, with old 
hats and rags in place of the broken window- 
panes, leaving but little space for the blessed 
light of heaven to penetrate into the abode of 
sickness and sorrow. 

Jenny put down the cliina-bowl and gently 
tapped at the door. 

A feeble voice said, “ Come in.” 

As Jenny entered the shanty, the same feeble 
voice said, “ And is it my blessed angel ?” in a 
rich Irish brogue, which it would be impossible 
to imitate. 

Jenny walked up to the low bed in one 
corner of the wretched apartment, and asked 
kindly, “ How are yon to-day, Mrs. Malony ?” 

Mrs. Malony . — Full of pains from the top- 


THE CHINA MILK JUG. 


45 


most hair of my head, down to the very ends 
of my ten toes. Tossing to and fro all night, 
just as I did in the surf, Miss, when I came 
here from my own darling country. 

Jenny . — Can you take some of grandma’s 
gruel. 

Mrs . Mciiony . — Oh yes, honey ; it does me 
more good nor all the ’potecary stuff in the uni- 
varse. 

Jenny now arranged the pillows for the sick 
woman, and fed her with the gruel. When 
she had taken it, Jenny sat down by the bed- 
side, took a little Bible from her pocket, and 
read a part of the fifteenth chapter of St. Luke 
— the Parable of the Prodigal Son. 

“ Ah, my darling,” said Mrs. Malony, “ you 
don’t know what it is to be like that naughty 
boy who had to chew corn husks, with the pigs. 
What have you got in the little basket ?” 

Jenny took out the oranges and apples, and 
laid them on the bed within reach of Mrs. 
Malony. 

“ You are an angel, every bit an angel,” said 
she, eagerly seizing one of the oranges. 

Jenny. — Don’t say that, Mrs. Malony, we are 


46 


QUEER BONNETS. 


all like the prodigal son ; all have wandered 
from onr Father in Heaven, and need forgive- 
ness.” Jenny sighed heavily. It was mourn- 
ful to see the woman passing away from earth 
without hopes of a better world. 

“ Oh, you are so kind to me, and I have been 
a* wicked body, a dreadful wicked body,” said 
the woman, with some emotion. “ Perhaps 
you would not be so kind to me, you sweet 
child, if you could know what a sinner I am.” 

Jenny . — That would not make me less kind 
to you, now. Grandma 5 says we must hate the 
» sin and not the sinner. If you are truly sorry 
for your sins, God will forgive you for Christ’s 
sake. You can pray to God for pardon, be- 
cause Christ died to save sinners,- even the chief 
of sinners. 

Mrs. Malony . — Pray ! I never pray. 

Jenny . — Why not, Mrs. Malony ? 

Mrs. Malony . — Because I don’t know how. 
I haven’t seen the inside of a church since I 
was a little girl, and I have forgotten all the 
prayers. 

Jenny . — But you can say, “ God be. merciful 
to me a sinner.” 


THE CHINA MILK JUG. 


47 


Mrs. Malony . — Yes, Miss, I can say so with 
my tongue, but somehow it won’t come from 
the deep of my heart. 

Jenny looked very sad, and rose to go. 

“ Stay a bit,” said the woman, “ can’t you 
just kneel down, and say your prayers, and I 
will try to keep along with you.” 

u I can offer the prayer which our blessed 
Saviour taught his disciples,” said Jenny. 
And she knelt down and slowly and solemnly 
said the Lord’s Prayer ; the woman repeat- 
ing it after her. 

When Jenny rose from her knees, Mrs. 
Malony said, “ Ah, that is the same beautiful 
prayer that I knew when I was a little child — 
it has come back to me now, and I shall say it 
over and over again, in the long, dark nights, 
when sleep never comes to my eyes. And that 
other bit of a prayer, what is it ?” 

Jenny . — God be merciful to me a sinner, for 
Jesus Christ’s sake. 

As Jenny was about to leave, Mrs. Malony 
groaned aloud — “ Oh, do, do come often and 
talk to me about these things, for it may be— 
it may be — that Death” — she could say no more 


48 


QUEER BONNETS. 


— she had never before spoken of the probabil- 
ity that this sickness would be her last. 

Jenny trembled and turned pale, but she 
said kindly, u I will come, and I will ask our 
clergyman to come and pray with you.” 

Jenny left, followed by an earnest “ God bless 
you, darling,” from tbe miserable woman. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE PURPLE VELVET BONNET. 

Mrs. Macer always made great preparations 
for going to church. Hot by reading, prayer 
and meditation at home, that she might profit 
by public worship ; oh, no ; her preparations 
were of an entirely different character ; they 
were outside preparations. 

Though full forty years of age, she dressed 
like a silly girl of sixteen, whose only care is to 
load on as many gay things as possible. She 
stood before the broken looking-glass for a full 
hour, curling her false hair, and dressing it in 
a way which she alone of all the world, consid- 
ered becoming. Then she put on her china- 
pink bonnet with its three black feathers out- 
side, and its yellow artificial flowers inside, and 
then she tossed her head this way, and the 
4 


50 


QUEER BONNETS. 


feathers waved, and that way, and the feathers 
waved again, to her entire satisfaction. Had 
any one asked Mrs. Macer, at that moment, 
what she thought the most important thing in 
the world, she might have answered with truth, 
— “ a bonnet.” 

Being fully equipped in her red changeable 
silk, with her blue cloak thrown over it, she 
took her lilac sunshade in her hand, and, bear- 
ing a striking resemblance to a walking rain- 
bow, tipped along to the door. Just then she 
remembered that Sallie must go to church, too. 
She stepped back and said, “ Get ready quick, 
or you will be late.” 

Sallie . — What am I to do for a bonnet ? 

Mrs. M. — There’s your bonnet, I laid it out 
last night, after you were in bed. 

Sallie looked where Mrs. Macer pointed, and 
saw only an old shawl — but under it was the 
huge bonnet. 

Mrs. Macer . — Put it on quick. 

Sallie . — But I have no clean frock. 

Mrs. Macer . — Never mind, take off your 
dirty apron, and put on that shawl, it will 
cover you up. Besides, you sit in the gallery, 


THE PURPLE VELVET BONNET. 51 

and nobody will see yon. There goes the bell. 
Come along. 

Mrs. Macer did not listen to Sallie’s entreaty. 
“ Please, marm, don’t make me wear that corn- 
fan on my head ; the boys will all laugh at 
me !” — she only hurried her the more, got her 
out of the house, and locked the door. 

Poor Sallie lagged behind, holding down 
her head, while hot tears ran over her cheeks. 
She had learned of her mistress to consider a 
bonnet a very important concern. 

When she came to the church steps, she found 
them filled, as is usual in country churches, by 
a crowd of young men and boys, who "wait 
there to gaze at the people, as they go in, and 
make remarks on them. 

Harry Thomson whispered to one of his 
companions, u there comes poor Sallie with a 
canoe on her head.” 

There was a general laugh at Sallie’s ex- 
pense, as she flew up the steps ; her appearance 
was ridiculous, but not so much so in reality as 
that of Mrs. Macer, w T ho had just preceded her, 
with tossing head and affected, mincing gait, 
yet even the place and the day could scarcely 


52 


QUEER BONNETS. 


keep the boys from hooting at Sallie, though 
they made their best bows to her mistress. 

' It is doubtful which heard the most of the 
services of that holy day, the mistress in the 
middle-aisle pew, or poor Sallie in a remote 
corner of the gallery. 

The lady sat among the rich and respectable, 
noticing their dress and manner ; especially did 
she scrutinize a family in the next pew, who 
had lately come to Snowton to reside, and now 
appeared in church for the first time. 

Sallie crept into a corner of the gallery, 
bearing her pent-house of a bonnet on her 
head, as a snail does his house, but not with 
the same satisfaction. Her tormentors, the 
boys, had taken a seat near her, and their 
whispering and giggling reached her ears. But 
Sallie did not sit long alone. A harmless, 
half-crazed woman, known to all the villagers 
as “ silly Poll,” came and sat beside her. Fix- 
ing her great lack-lustre eyes upon Sallie, she 
whispered, “What a nation pretty bonnet 
you’ve got on to-day — it must have taken a 
power of cloth to make it.” 


THE PURPLE VELVET BONNET. 


53 


“ Be still, Poll, don’t you know you are in 
church,” said Sallie, beseechingly. 

“ I have been there, and still would go ; 

’Tis like a little heaven below,” 

repeated Poll, whose bewildered brain was full 
of odds and ends of poetry. 

Sallie sat trembling with fear, expecting 
every moment Poll would speak out and startle 
the congregation. For awhile she sat quiet; 
then she stood up on the bench and stretched 
her long neck so as to look over the gallery 
into the body of the church ; catching sight of 
Mrs. Macer she settled herself down again, and 
in a loud whisper, which sounded along the 
gallery, said : 

“ Many men of many minds, 

Many birds of many kinds.” 

u The parrot below is finer than the poor 
gosling above.” 

Harry Thomson and his companions giggled 
so loudly that the sexton came to them and 
shaking his fist, threateningly, sat down in the 
pew behind them. This did not prevent their 


54 


QUEER BONNETS. 


laughter ; they shook as though they were 
seized with ague fits. 

“ What ails you, Harry Thomson,” he said, 
laying his hand on the boy’s shoulders. Harry 
pointed toward Poll Dobson. 

There sat the half-witted woman, pinning a 
piece of red flannel to the crown of Sallie’s 
bonnet, which she had already ornamented 
with a lortg streamer of yellow quality-binding. 
The sexton immediately went to Poll, and 
gently led her out of church. 

Sallie, who had been sitting with her face 
covered with both hands, was greatly relieved, 
and totally unconscious that she had been ren- 
dered more ridiculous through Poll’s mischief. 

When church was over, Sallie waited till she 
thought the people had all gone, but when she 
got down the gallery-stairs, there, on the front 
steps, were her persecutors, the boys, w T aiting 
to see her go out. Sallie drew back, and stood 
upon the stairs, weeping vehemently. 

At this moment, Jenny Brice, who had 
waited to speak to the clergyman about Mrs. 
Malony, saw Sallie, and was at first ready to 
smile at the strange apparition, but overcoming 


THE PURPLE VELVET BONNET. 


55 


this temptation, she said, very kindly, “ What 
ails yon, Sallie ?” 

“ I am afraid to go out of church, because 
the boys laugh so, at this awful bonnet.” 

“ Don’t be frightened, Sallie, the bonnet 
wouldn’t be so awful without the red and 
yellow trimming.” 

“ Red and yellow trimming ! pray take it 
off.” Jenny unpinned the trappings with which 
Poll had adorned Sallie, and then taking her 
arm, said, “ Come, don’t be afraid ; I will walk 
home with you.” 

“ Jenny Brice, you are the best girl that ever 
lived on earth — I don’t see how you can have 
so little pride, when you are so nice and 
pretty.” 

Jenny . — Don’t say that, didn’t you hear 
what our good pastor said to-day, about humil- 
ity? 

Sallie . — ISTo ; I did not hear one word of the 
sermon. I hope Mrs. Macer did, though, for 
she ought to take it soundly. 

“We should all hear for ourselves,” said 
Jenny, as she was passing the boys on the 
steps, who were amazed and silenced, by seeing 


56 


QUEER BONNETS. 


“ sweet Jenny Brice” walking arm and arm 
with “ poor Sallie.” 

u I understand this,” said Harry Thomson ; 
u Jenny Brice is practising on the preaching.” 


CHAPTEK VII. 

THE DISTRICT SCHOOL. 

“ Not go to school, Sallie ! the very day of 
all others when I can best spare you.” 

It was Monday morning ; Poll Dobson’s 
washing-day for Mrs. Macer ; that silly person 
was standing by the back door, with her head 
poked in, to see what was going on. 

“ I don’t wish to go to school any more,” 
said Sallie, dreading to encounter the ridicule 
of the boys. 

“ You can’t say you have no bonnet to wear, 
for I gave yon one yesterday,” said Mrs. 
Macer. 


There was a little man, 

And he wooed a little maid, 
And he said, -little maid, &c. ; 


58 


QUEER BONNETS. 


“ The least said, is the soonest amended-ded- 
ded,” repeated Poll, with a low chuckling 
sound, meant for a laugh. 

“ Hush your nonsense, and mind your own 
business, Poll. Go to school this instant, 
Sallie ; you never refused to obey me before, 
you impudent thing.” 

Sallie threw her apron over her head, ran out 
of the house, and stopped not, even to take 
breath, till she reached the school-house. 

“ Ho ! Here’s Madam Blazeaway !” said 
Harry Thomson — “ Where’s your gunboat ?” 

Just then a handsome carriage, drawn by 
two iron-grey horses, stopped before the school- 
house door. A gentleman in a blue coat and 
buff vest alighted, and handed out a fat, clumsy 
girl, about thirteen years old. 

The master, Mr. Hollister, came to the door 
to receive the strangers. The gentleman, who 
introduced himself as Mr. Newton, had come 
into possession of Fairbank, a beautiful resi- 
dence near the village of Snowton. “ This is 
my niece, Evelina Anderson, ’’said Mr.Newton, 
“ I understand the district school is an excel- 
lent one, and, indeed, the only one in this part 


THE DISTRICT SCHOOL. 


50 


of the country ; and I have brought my niece 
to place her under your instruction. I am sorry 
to say you will find her rather backward ; her 
early education has been much neglected.” 

Mr. Hollister cast his eye upon the very 
elegantly-dressed young miss, and then upon 
Sallie, who stood, bareheaded and nearly bare- 
footed by the door, and he said, “ You are 
aware, sir, that this is a common school, and 
within the precincts over which I rule, there is 
no superiority, excepting what is fairly earned 
by good behavior and good scholarship. I shall 
endeavor to do my duty by your niece. It is 
time for my school to open. Good morning, 
sir.” 

“ An independent fellow, this,” thought Mr. 
Hewton, as he stepped into his carriage, “ but 
I like him.” 

Mr. Hollister showed the new scholar to a 
seat, placing her beside Jenny Brice. As he 
did so, he said : 

u Jenny, this is Evelina Anderson ; I know 
you will do everything in your power to make 
our school pleasant and profitable to her.” 


QUEER BONNETS. 


60 • 

Jenny reddened at this compliment from her 
teacher, and smiled kindly on the new scholar. 

It was the custom at the Snowton school, for 
the children to bring their dinners, and have a 
short intermission. The master dined at a 
house in the neighborhood. 

Evelina opened her well-filled dinner-basket, 
and devoured its contents with great relish. As 
she did so she made various enquiries about the 
scholars. 

Evelina . — Who is that distressed looking 
girl sitting alone in the corner ? 

Jenny . — She goes by the name of “ poor 
Sallie.” 

Evelina . — Where does she live ? 

Jenny . — With Mrs. Macer, a lady who 
resides in the main street of our village. 

Evelina. — Don’t the lady give her any 
dinner ? she looks half-starved. 

Sallie was slenderly formed, with uncom- 
monly small hands and feet, and was now more 
than usually pale. 

Jenny . — I am afraid poor Sallie is often 
hungry. As she said this, she slid a piece of 
bread and butter and an apple under her apron. 


THE DISTRICT SCHOOL. 


61 


from lier own dinner-basket, and went across 
the room to Sallie. She sat down by her, and 
entreated her to take what she had brought. 

Meantime, Evelina Anderson, not liking to 
be left alone, followed Jenny, and found her 
whispering to Sallie. 

“ Come back to your seat, Miss Jenny Brice, 
it is not polite to leave me alone,” said the 
stranger. 

“ I’ll come in a minute,” replied Jenny, u but 
I have a few more words to say to Sallie.” 

“ You need not mind that dirty girl,” whis- 
pered Evelina, so loud that Sallie could not 
help hearing ; “ I shouldn’t think you would 
speak to her /” 

Sallie hid her face and cried bitterly. 

“ Can’t you give me an apple, too ?” contin- 
ued Evelina. 

Jenny. — I am sorry I haven’t another for 
you. 

Sallie . — Take this, miss ; I don’t want it. 

And Evelina took it — took the apple from 
poor Sallie, who had had no dinner. 

Jenny. — Don’t cry, Sallie ; I will walk home 


62 


QUEER BONNETS. 


with you after school ; and then I will tell yon 
what I was going to, just now. 

Then turning to Evelina, and walking with 
her to her seat, she said, by w^ay of apology 
for Sallie’s untidy appearance, “ Sallie did not 
purpose to come to school this morning ; she 
left home in a great hurry, and looks worse 
than usual. You will be surprised to find what 
a good scholar she is. Mr. Hollister says she 
is one of the smartest girls to learn, that he 
ever had in school.” 

“ But I should think it an awful disgrace to 
walk in the street with her, as you promised 
to,” said Evelina Anderson, as she munched 
the apple the poor girl had given her. 

“ Ho disgrace for me,” replied Jenny, “ for I 
am not rich; besides, Sallie is so generous and 
kind, that I really love her.” 

“ Love her, indeed ! I don’t see how anybody 
can love such a poor, dirty girl.” 

Evelina Anderson loved apples. 

By this time the master had returned, and 
conversation w r as at an end. 

It was true that Sallie was a bright scholar, 
and, although her advantages for education 


THE DISTRICT SCHOOL. 


63 


had been few, yet she was able to keep up in 
the classes with the girls of her own age, and 
the master, who encouraged merit wherever he 
found it, was pleased to cultivate her bright 
mind. 

When school was over, Mr. Newton’s car- 
riage was waiting at the door, for Evelina An- 
derson. The school-children stood looking at 
it, with eyes, and mouths, too, wide open. 

“ Come, Jenny Brice, get in and ride home 
with me ; I want to see where you live,” said 
Evelina. 

“ I thank you,” said Jenny, “ you remember, 
I promised to walk home with Sallie.” 

“ Never mind that, you can walk home with 
her, any time, and you can’t always ride with 
me, by a great deal.” 

Jenny . — I have promised, you know, I can’t 
break my word.” 

“Jump in, jump in, Jenny,” said Harry 
Thomson, “ I dare say you never was in a close 
carriage in your life, and, perhaps, you’ll never 
have another chance.” 

Jenny shook her head and ran back into the 
school-room to Sallie, while the carriage rolled 
off. 


64 


QUEER BONNETS. 


The poor girl was waiting till the other 
children should be out of the way. 

“Sallie, I observed this morning that you 
came to school without any bonnet,” said the 
master, “ you must not do it again ; I am sorry 
you are so careless.” 

“ She couldn’t help it, sir,” said Jenny, “ she 
has a great many troubles that she can’t men- 
tion. Here Sallie, take my bonnet, and I will 
wear my green veil over my head.” 

“ Ho ; no ; I will not do that, Jenny ; I do 
not care how I look. If you go w T ith me, the 
boys will not throw mud at me.” 

“ Throw mud at you ! Let me catch them, 
and I will punish them severely said the 
master, as he turned the key of the school - 
house door. 

Jenny threw the green veil over Sallie’s 
head, and they walked off together, arm in 
arm, while Mr. Hollister’s eye followed them 
with pride, as he thought, “ There go two of 
my best scholars, my very best ; what a pity it 
is that poor Sallie is an orphan ; yet so it has 
been ordered by Providence, for wise and be- 


THE DISTRICT SCHOOL. 


65 


aevolent purposes, which we know not now, 
but may know hereafter.” 

When the girls arrived at the old elm, where 
the deserted bird’s nest was still hanging, 
Jenny said “ Come in, Sallie, grandma’ wants 
to see you.” 

Jenny opened the gate, but Sallie hung back, 
saying, “lam afraid of your grandmother.” 

Jenny . — How strange, Sallie ! why should 
you be afraid of her ? You wouldn’t be if you 
had ever seen her, she is so good and kind. 

Sallie . — But then she is so neat and particu- 
lar, I am afraid she will scold at me. 

Jenny. — Ho, she will not; I have told her 
all about your misfortunes, and she pities you.” 

Sallie. — Well, then, I will come in ; and if 
she gives me a scolding, I will not be mad, one 
bit, for your sake, my own pretty J enny. 

Sallie threw the green veil over a rose-bush 
in the yard, and went in after Jenny. 

The poor girl’s wiry hair had not that day 
felt the touch of brush or comb ; it was frizzled 
and tangled, for it was its nature to curl, and 
required much care to keep it in order. The 
salt tears that had streamed over her cheeks 


66 


QUEEK BONNETS. 


were the only water that had touched them 
that day, and they had left streaks which were 
still visible. Her small hands were red and 
soiled, and ornamented with ten black nails. 

And thus stood Sallie, ragged and dirty, 
before the dreaded Mrs. Brice ; there she stood, 
slender and erect, with downcast eyes, blush- 
ing face, and lips slightly pouting, displaying 
to the keen eye of Mrs. Brice, extreme mortifi- 
cation, mingled with fear. 

“ Make a curtesy to grandma’,” whispered 
Jenny, who stood beside her humble friend. 

Sallie made a sudden little jerk downward, 
of about two inches, and rose bolt upright in a 
twinkling ; Jenny could scarcely keep from 
laughing at this curtesy, but her habitual good 
manners overcame the temptation. 

“Sallie, I have so frequently heard Jenny 
speak of you, that I wished to see you. I am 
sorry you were so careless with your bonnet. 
Jenny has bought you the materials for an- 
other, and I have made it, to-day. I hope you 
will take better care of this, than you did of 
the other.” 


THE DISTRICT SCHOOL. 67 

Mrs. Brice then handed Sallie a neat sun- 
bonnet, made of blue gingham. 

44 Thank you, marm,” said Sallie, without 
reaching out her hand, 44 1 don’t like to take it, 
when I have never done anything for you.” 

44 It is Jenny's gift,” said Mrs. Brice, quite 
surprised, 44 and although you have not yet 
found an opportunity to do anything for me, 
the time may come ; they who w T ish to do good 
to others, seldom' fail to find opportunities. 
You are perfectly w r elcome to the bonnet ; you 
may go now.” 

Sallie put on the bonnet, made another quick 
little curtesy, and was out of the house in a 
minute. Jenny followed. 

44 She is a dear old lady,” said Sallie, 44 how 
kind to make this bonnet for me ! I never 
remember to have had an entirely new bonnet 
before. And you, Jenny, to buy the pretty 
blue gingham ! "What a comfort it is, that 
there are some good folks left in this hard 
world !” 

44 Bemember what grandma’ told you about 
being careful,” said Jenny, as Sallie went out 
the gate. 


68 


QUEEK BONNETS. 


“ Certainly, I will ; how can I help it ?” 

Jenny now spied the green veil on the rose- 
bush. She tried to pull it off ; but the thorns 
held it tightly, and it was some time before she 
could get it free ; with all the care she could 
take there were several rents in it.- u I do wish 
my dear grandma’ had brought up poor Sallie,’ 
thought Jenny. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE FRENCH BAKER. 

When Sallie reached home, Mrs. Macer was 
in fine spirits. She had received her half 
yearly allowance, and one hundred dollars be- 
sides, which had been unexpectedly paid by an 
old debtor of her deceased husband. Mrs. 
Macer was the widow of an army officer, living 
on a small pension. She had left the town 
where she belonged, because she was deeply in 
debt, and had come to Snowton, for the sake of 
economy. 

Mrs. Macer was so much exhilirated by her 
unexpected “ good luck,” as she termed it, as 
to have quite forgotten her anger with Sallie. 

She had been around and paid her debts in 
Snowton, and had fifty dollars to sj>are, for the 
next half year — an uncommon thing for her; 


70 


QUEER BONNETS. 


for, notwithstanding the necessity for economy, 
she was still extravagant. 

“ Go over to the French baker’s, Sallie,” said 
Mrs. Macer, “ and pay for the trifle you bought 
there. Tell him I will patronize him, and open 
an account.” 

Sallie ran across the street, delighted with 
the opportunity to get back her beloved ring. 

Sallie. — Here’s the money for the bread and 
cakes ; I want my ring. 

The baker took the money, looked in a drawer 
under the counter, and shook his head till the 
paper-cap rattled. 

Sallie . — Please give me my ring. 

Frenchman . — Your ring ; oui, mais, I forgets 
vere I puts him. I got hurries now ; I finds 
him noder time. 

“ Oh, I must have it now ; I must, I must,” 
said Sallie, entreatingly. 

“ Ho such ting — I got hurries — go, go.” 

But still Sallie continued, beseechingly, 
“ Please, let me have it.” 

“Yell, I vill ; noder time — I neber* steals 
nor sheats — go, now.” 


Till*; FRKXCU BAKER. 71 

“ But Mrs. Macer wants to open an account 
with you.” 

“Yell; I try her one mont, and den she 
must payez me. Kun now, vast, vast.” 

Sallie went home sorrowful. As she crossed 
the street she met Poll Dobson, going from her 
day’s work. 

The crazed creature pointed at the new ging- 
ham bonnet, and said, 

* u 1 When I was a little girl, I had but little wit, 

It’s a long time ago, and I have no more yit, 

Nor ever, ever shall, until that I die, 

F-or the longer I live, the more fool am I f 

Take care, Sallie, you don’t have to say that 
from your own experience.” 

Sallie did not answer, but she thought, “ Poll 
is more than half a witch ; she always hits mein 
a tender spot, and I do believe knows what I am 
thinking about. It is awful to feel that an evil 
spirit helps her.” And Sallie looked over her 
shoulder as though some unearthly thing were 
following her, while Poll walked off, nodding 
her silly head, saying ; 

“ Hoity, toity ! Hoity, toity ! Hot so smart, 
after all, poor Sallie, as you was yesterday,” 


CHAPTEE IX, 


THE BLUE GINGHAM BONNET* 

The next morning, Sallie made herself as 
neat as she could, before going to school, and 
put on with great pleasure, the blue gingham 
sun-bonnet. 

“ Why, where in the name of wonder did 
you get that new bonnet V y exclaimed Mrs* 
Macer. 

Sallie. — Mrs. Brice made it for me. 

Mrs. M . — Have you been complaining to 
that stingy old woman ? 

Sallie. — Ho, marm ; I never saw her till last 
evening. 

Mrs. M . — I have a great mind to send it 
back. What right has she to be giving things 
to my servant 1 I will show her that I don't 


THE BLUE GINGHAM BONNET. 73 

need her charity. She thinks herself mighty 
generous, no doubt. Go to school. I wish I 
hadn’t agreed to send you to school, though, for 
its a constant botheration. Anyhow, you’ve 
only a few quarters more to go, and you may 
as well make the best of them.” 

Sallie stept out the door with her left foot 
first ; she was going back to try and put her 
right foot over the threshold first, but just then 
she saw Jenny Brice with a large parcel under 
her arm. 

“ Where are you going, Jenny?” said Sallie, 
“ let me carry that big bundle for you.” 

Jenny . — Bridget Malony is dead, and I am 
going to carry the grave-clothes to lay her out 
in. 

Sallie . — Grave clothes ! Oh Jenny, I wouldn’t 
touch them for the world. I knew some bad 
luck was coming when I stepped my left foot 
out the door this morning. 

Jermy . — But it is no misfortune to you, 
Sallie, that Bridget Malony is released from 
pain and suffering. 

Sallie . — Coming so near grave-clothes is bad 
luck. I should expect, if I touched them, to 


74 


QUEER BONNETS. 


see Mrs. Malony’s ghost every night of my 
life. 

Jenny . — Oh Sallie, you who are so generous, 
would not refuse to carry the clothes for a poor 
dead woman to he laid out in ! Good morn- 
ing. I shall not be at school, to-day ; for I am 
to sit by the corpse till the women come to put 
on these grave-clothes. 

Jenny hastened onward, while Sallie stood 
for some time, stock still, looking after her ; 
then she slowly turned and walked towards 
school, saying to herself : 

“ Sit by a corpse ! I shan’t feel like coming 
near Jenny Brice for a month to come. What 
a strange girl she is ! She isn’t afraid of any 
thing under the sun. Can it be because she is 
so good ? I wish I was like her.” 

When Jenny reached the miserable shanty 
where Bridget Malony had lived, she knocked 
at the door, but no one bade her enter. She 
softly opened it. All was silent within. Jenny 
walked lightly up to the bed ; there lay the 
remains of the woman, stretched on a board, 
and covered with a sheet. Over the face 
v was a thin muslin handkerchief. Jenny had 


THE BLUE GINGHAM BONNET. 75 

never before seen the mortal remains of a 
human being, after the departure of the spirit. 
'With solemn awe she lifted the light covering, 
and looked on the countenance, so fixed and 
rigid, and yet so calm and peaceful. No traces 
of anguish were there. Jenny laid her hand' 
on the forehead. It was icy cold ; she shrank 
back with an involuntary shudder, and replaced 
the handkerchief over the face. Then she laid 
the grave-clothes on the bed, and seated herself 
on the other side of the room to wait for the 
women, who had promised to perform the last 
kind offices for their poor neighbor. 

Soon after, the clergyman came in with 
them, and having given some directions about 
the funeral, he took Jenny by the hand, and 
walked away. 

He told Jenny of his visit to Mrs. Malony 
on Sunday. “ She had learned -to pray,” said 
he, “ not only to use the words you taught her, 
Jenny, but to plead for pardon in the most ear- 
nest and heart-thrilling manner. She died, at 
last, after severe struggles, both of body and 
soul, with the prayer on her lips, c God be 
merciful to me a sinner.' My dear child,” con- 


T6 


QUEER BONNETS. 


tinued the good man, “you will meet with 
many discouragements in your efforts to do 
good, but remember poor Bridget Malony with 
gratitude, and take heart ; for God will bestow 
his blessing on your pious endeavors.” 


CHAPTER X. 

EVELINA ANDEESON. 

Again it was Saturday, and Sallie was hard 
at work, while the usual preparations for Sun- 
day were going on at Mrs. Macer’s. That lady 
had determined to show off her generosity, to 
mortify Mrs. Brice for daring to bestow a gift 
on poor Sallie. 

A new bonnet had come from the milliner’s 
* — a bright pink silk, with coarse artificial 
flowers on the outside — a flaunting head-dress, 
unsuitable for Sallie, or for any one else. 

Mrs. Macer was herself trying on a new 
spring bonnet, before the looking-glass. “ What 
sort of a young lady is Miss Evelina Anderson, 
Sallie?” asked she. 

Sallie . — She is about as old as I am, I sup- 
pose. 


78 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Mrs. M . — How does she dress ? How does 
she look ? IIow does she act ? 

Sallie . — She dresses in fine clothes ; she looks 
very proud, and she acts like a hungry school- 
girl. 

Mrs. Macer . — You are saucy, Sallie; answer 
me as you ought. Is she handsome ? 

Sallie . — She don’t look as pretty as sweet 
Jenny Brice. 

Mrs. M . — Jenny Brice! nothing but Jenny 
Brice ! You think that girl is an angel with- 
out wings. 

Sallie . — I am sure I am very glad she hasn’t 
any wings, for I couldn’t bear to have her fly 
to heaven, where she more naturally belongs, 
than to this naughty world. 

Mrs. Macer . — Do you know her grandmother 
is poor, proud, and stingy? 

Sallie started up from the hearth she had 
been scouring, flourished the old scrubbing- 
brush in her hand, and said, very emphatically : 

“ Mrs. Brice pays for everything she buys, 
and is not so poor but what she always has 
something to give to folks who are poorer than 
herself ; and she does give ; therefore she isn’t 


EVELINA ANDEKSON. 


79 


stingy. If tlie good lady is proud herself, she 
teach Jenny to be so ; she let her walk 
with me from school, though the other 

.idren will not go a step with me because 
everybody calls me u poor Sallie.” 

Mrs. Macer was silenced. 

After a while she resumed : “ Was the elderly 
lady at church, the wife of Mr. Newton ?” 

Sallie . — I never asked the question. 

Mrs. M . — I thought you might have heard 
Miss Evelina speak of her. I am going to pay 
a visit at Fairbank, this morning. Where’s my 
gold pencil ? Sallie, find my pencil and a 
card, and my card-case. 

Mrs. Macer wrote her name on a soiled em- 
bossed card — “ Mrs. Lieutenant Macer.” Then 
she sailed out of the house with a grand air, to 
call on the Newtons. 

Sallie went on with her work, and amused 
herself, meantime, with talking aloud. “ I 
wish I was a fly, for flies don’t wear bonnets. 
No ; I don’t wish I was a fly, either, because 
nobody loves flies ; but I do really wish I was 
a bird, and then I should always be dressed 
up, clean and nice, and my clothes would be 


80 


QUEER BONNETS. 


just like other birds, and then other bi~' 
would not laugh at me. And then I co 
on the trees all day long, by the pretty bi 
and sing or fly about in the beautiful sky, an. 
sweep along over the ground. Wouldn’t it be 
charming! But then bad boys would throw 
stones at me ! yes, maybe they would kill me. 
Oh, dear ! I don’t want to be a bird ; I would 
rather be obliged to wear a bonnet. I cannot 
see why a bonnet is a thing of such mighty 
importance. What difference does it really 
make whether I put one covering on my head, 
or another ? — whether it was this tin-pan, for 
instance, or that new pink bonnet ; they both 
would only keep the sun and rain off. This is 
a queer world ; people think more of what is 
outside the head, than of all the knowledge 
there is inside of it. Dear me ! I wish I was 
an angel; for then the boys, those everlasting 
plagues, wouldn’t throw stones at me, and I 
shouldn’t have to wear a bonnet.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


FAIRBANK. 

A beautiful avenue of horse-chestnuts and 
elms led up to the spacious white house at 
Eairbank. The chestnut trees had already sent 
out their glossy messenger-buds, which a few 
more genial smiles of the sun would expand 
into tender leaves ; the elms were covered with 
dark, reddish flowers. Mrs. Macer, however, 
did not look up to observe the beautiful blue 
sky through the brown net-work of the over- 
hanging branches, but walked onward, her 
thoughts of the earth earthy, and her eyes 
fixed upon the large house. 

There was something in the appearance of 
the lady at church that led Mrs. Macer to 


82 


QUEER BONNETS. 


doubt if she were the wife of Mr. Newton ; and, 
therefore, she asked for “the ladies,” and 
handed her card. 

The black waiter showed her into a splendid- 
ly-furnished parlor, and left her to survey it at 
her leisure. 

In about half an hour the lady she had seen 
at church, a tall, perpendicular figure, moved 
into the room, as if afraid of pressing down 
the rich carpet, and coming in front of NIrs. 
Macer wheeled round and looked sharply at 
her, through a pair of large round spectacles. 

Mrs. Macer rose and curtesied. 

“ What do you please to want, Mrs. What- 
ye-call-yer ? I can’t read the name on this ’ere 
ticket ,” said the stranger, holding the card out 
to Mrs. Macer. 

“ Mrs. Lieutenant Macer,” said that lady, 
with offended dignity. 

“Massy on us! I never hearn tell of a 
woman’s being a lieutenant before, I shall 
expect to hear of their being stage-drivers 
before long. Well ; what do you please to 
want, Mrs. Lieutenant ?” 

I reside in the village, and came to call on 


FAIRBANK. 


83 


the ladies at Fairbank,” replied Mrs Macer, 
coloring with vexation. 

“ Our Eveliny has gone to school, and I don’t 
go into the vanities and follies of worldly 
people.” 

Mrs. Macer was puzzled to know who this 
singular person could be, but from her saying 
our Evelina, she judged it must be Mrs. New- 
ton, and replied, “ I am sorry, Mrs. Newton, 
that you do not visit ; I will bid you good 
morning.” 

“ Mrs. Newton ! Massy on us ! Timothy 
Newton is my first cousin by the mother’s side. 
I never got into such a scrape as marrying, and 
never expect to. You have brought some mud 
in, on this nice carpet, marm; wasn’t there a 
mat at the door ?” 

Mrs. Macer sailed out of the room with a 
magnificent air, designed to astonish the singu- 
lar person. Before she was fairly out of the 
house she heard the cracked voice calling to 
the waiter, “ Tom, bring a brush and dust-pan, 
here’s a peck of dirt on the carpet.” 

As Mrs. Macer hastened down the lawn, the 
tall woman looked out the window, and said, 


84 


QUEER BONNETS. 


“ Massyful patience ! I wonder if we’ve got to 
be pestered here, with them Yanity Fair 
madams, tramping in at all times. It does 
seem to me, that highflyer, though she calls 
herself a Lieutenant, must be a widow ; and 
who knows but she may be setting her cap for 
our Timothy !” 

Mr. Newton had been for many years a sea- 
captain, and had passed much of his life in 
foreign countries. By the death of a distant 
relation, he was left heir to a large fortune, of 
which Fairbank was a portion. He returned 
to his own country with reluctance, having 
never visited it since the death of his wife and 
only child. The news of this sad event reach- 
ed him in a distant land, eight or ten years 
before the time of his coming to live at Fair- 
bank. 

It was some consolation to the lonely man 
that his present residence was at a distance 
from the home associated with his departed 
wife and child. He sought out his cousin, 
Miss Almira Cuffman, for his housekeeper, and 
anxious to do good to the few relations he had 
in the world, adopted another cousin, farther 


FAIRBANK. 


85 


removed, for his daughter. Miss Mira, as she 
was called, was highly delighted to be placed 
at the head of Mr. Newton’s house, but she did 
not bear the honor meekly, when Mr. Newton 
adopted Evelina Anderson, and called her his 
niece. 

“Niece! Fourteenth cousin,” she said; “to 
be the lady of the house, I suppose. Well, I’ll 
try and hold my own in spite of her.” 

Evelina was proud of her sudden elevation 
from comparative poverty, and inclined to 
domineer over everbody who came within her 
reach. 

Mr. Newton allowed Miss Mira to manage 
everything pertaining to her department in her 
own way, but would not allow her to interfere 
with Evelina. She must do as she pleased un- 
controlled by any one but himself; and he 
resolved to exercise authority over her in the 
mildest possible manner, hoping to win her 
gratitude and affection. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE PINK SILK BONNET. 

The next day after the call at Fairbank, was 
Sunday. 

On coming out of church, Mrs. Macer 
resolved to renew her acquaintance with the 
queer lady, who had received her so ungra- 
ciously. But Miss Mira raised a large feather 
fan as a shield, before her face, to keep off the 
salutation of Mrs. Lieutenant, and marched by 
her with a stately step, as she stood waiting at 
the church-door, ready to make her most flour- 
ishing curtesy. Mr. Newton, however, made a 
polite bow to Mrs. Macer, and that atoned for 
the “ cut” she had received from the strange 
lady. 

Mr. Newton’s carriage was waiting at the 


THE PINK SILK BONNET. 


87 


door. Sallie, who had come down from her 
seat in the gallery, stood upon the steps, with 
several other children, gazing at “ the Fairbank 
family.” Poor Sallie wore the gay, pink bon- 
net, bedizened with artificial flowers, which 
was in striking contrast with her faded red 
merino dress and dirty white shawl. The old 
slip-shod shoes of Mrs. Macer, she had much 
trouble to keep on, and the open-work stockings 
had many larger holes than were woven in 
them. In short, poor Sallie’s appearance was 
comical, and yet sad, to any one of kind feel- 
ings. Mr. Newton saw the forlorn girl, and 
pitied her. Even after he had taken his seat 
in the carriage, and it was slowly rolling aw r ay 
from the church-door, he leaned out of the 
window and looked after her. 

“ Evelina, do you know who that girl is, in 
the pink bonnet ?” he enquired. 

Evelina. — Yes, I do ; she is, I believe, a ser- 
vant-girl ; at any rate, she lives "with that Mrs. 
Macer, the ridiculous Mrs. Macer, who came to 
pay us a visit, yesterday. Isn’t poor Sallie a 
fright to behold ? 

Mr. Newton . — The girl has a fine face. Mrs. 


88 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Macer, if that is the gay lady’s name, dresses 
her poor young handmaiden in a shabby, un- 
suitable manner. 

Evelina. — That pink bonnet was enough to 
kill a body ; I liked to have tittered out, when 
I saw those artificial flowers. Why, uncle, 
you ought to see poor Sallie as she comes to 
school — so dirty and ragged, that you would 
take her for a beggar-girl. I wish Mr. Hollis- 
ter would turn her out of school. Isn’t it dis- 
graceful for a young lady to be in the same 
class with such a girl ? 

Mr. Newton. — What is the poor girl’s name % 

Evelina. — She is always called poor Sallie. 
I don’t think she has any other name. Jenny 
Brice is the only girl in school who will walk 
in the street with the half-starved, filthy thing. 

Mr. Newton. — Evelina, my dear niece ! do 
not use such a word as filthy ! 

Miss Almira. — Eveliny often uses very un- 
proper words. If you would know my opinion, 
Cousin Timothy, that Mrs. Lieutenant Some- 
body, is just the miserablest hand to bring up a 
girl, that ever was seen on ’arth. Even your 
pompostemus airs, Evelina, can’t come up to 


THE PINK SILK BONNET. 


89 


hers. She puts prantastical notions into the 
girl’s head, and will make her a complete pop- 
erjay. 

Here Evelina burst into a fit of laughter, 
which highly offended Miss Mira. 

Miss Almira . — You needn’t laugh at me, 
Miss, nor at that poor girl, neither; where 
would you have been, now, if our Timothy 
hadn’t picked you up, out of sheer charity ! 

Mr. Newton. — Mira, this is not suitable con- 
versation for Sunday. I must repeat my re- 
quest, that you will never allude to anything 
concerning Evelina’s former condition. Ke- 
member, she is my adopted child. 

Miss Mira was highly incensed, and though 
she did not speak, she looked daggers at Eve- 
lina, who returned them with scornful glances, 
and audible sneers. 

The next morning, at the breakfast table, 
Mr. ISTewton said to Evelina, “It is a fine, 
pleasant day, I will walk with you to school. 
I see the crocuses are showing their heads 
above the ground, and the grass looks soft and 
green.” 


90 


QUEEK BONNETS. 


Evelina . — I don’t care for crocuses and grass, 
uncle. I prefer the carriage. 

Mr. Newton . — Would you prefer going in 
the carriage alone, to having my company ? I 
am sorry for that. 

Evelina . — It is a long walk. 

Mr. Newton . — Exercise in the fresh morning 
air, will benefit your health. We will start 
early and take the walk leisurely. I see you 
have finished your breakfast ; you may get 
ready for school, immediately ; and I will have 
the pleasure of carrying my young lady’s books 
and dinner-basket. 

Evelina left the room, pouting and jerking 
her fat shoulders up and down ; a way she had 
of expressing dislike, when afraid to speak out. 

Mr. bTewton brought in Evelina’s pretty 
willow-basket, and, standing by the table, 
began arranging it from the remains of the 
bountiful breakfast. 

Miss Mira, who was washing up the break- 
fast things, exclaimed : 

“ What a ’normous dinner ! Why, Timothy, 
you are putting up enough for a dozen school- 
children. Eveliny is a monstrous feeder, but 


THE PINK SILK BONNET. 


91 


slie can’t stuff down all the provisions you’ve 
put up. I declare, you’ll make her as glutter- 
ous as your fat dog, who can do nothing on 
’arth but waddle from his kennel to his feeding- 
place.” 

Mr. Newton . — Poor Frisk is old ; when 
young, he w T as one of the liveliest dogs you 
ever saw. He would amuse our dear little 
baby by the hour together ; they were insepa- 
rable. 

Mr. Newton sighed heavily, as he looked up 
at the full-length portrait of a lady, with a 
child sitting on a cushion at her feet, playing 
with a dog. The picture hung over the mantel- 
piece, and had been painted by an artist in 
Italy, from a miniature of Mr. Newton’s wife 
and child, which that gentleman valued as his 
greatest earthly treasure. 

The dog had been painted from life ; and, in- 
deed, nothing on canvas could be more life- 
like than the whole picture. 

When Evelina came back, prepared for 
school, she was still in a pouting humor. 

Mr. Newton appeared not to notice it, but 
taking the dinner-basket in his hand, and the 


92 


QUEER BONNETS. 


books under one arm, he offered the other to 
Evelina, and bidding Miss Mira “ good morn- 
ing,” walked out of the house. 

The fresh grass of the lawn sparkled with the 
clear diamond drops, which a gentle shower 
had bestowed during the night, and a few 
bright clouds were still sweeping over the deep 
azure of a March sky. The purple and yellow 
crocuses had started from their wintry sleep, 
into new and beautiful life ; the sweet, white 
violets perfumed the air ; blue-birds were 
chanting their cheerful songs from every tree, 
and a solitary robin was trilling out the joyful 
news, that charming Spring had really come, 
in spite of the snow which still lingered on the 
tops of the distant mountains. 

“ This is a glorious morning for a walk,” said 
Mr. Newton, in a more cheerful voice than 
usual. Mr. Newton was habitually sad, but 
not gloomy. u One of the poets writes some- 
thing about the larch, or some other tree, that 
had c hung out its tassels,’ in early spring. 
Look up, Evelina ; just see those light tassels, 
hanging all over that tree — a botanist would 


THE PINK SILK BONNET. 


93 


call them catkins; but, I presume, a young lady 
would prefer the poet’s term — 4 tassels.’ ” 

44 1 don’t care what you call them, they are 
ugly, worm-looking things, any way, and the 
wind blows awfully.” 

44 Not awfully, Evelina ! It is a brisk wind ; 
a fine nor’-wester. It is in our favor, — a fair 
wind, all the way to school.” 

The conversation was interrupted by Frisk, 
who had waddled down the lawn. 

44 Poor fellow,” said Mr. Newton, patting the 
brown and white dog. 44 Go back home ; we 
can’t have your company, to day.” 

Frisk licked his master’s hand, and then 
turned and walked slowly back to his kennel. 

Evelina . — Why don’t you buy a new, hand- 
some dog, uncle ? I wouldn’t have that ugly 
animal about the place, if I were you.” 

Mr. Newton . — ‘ 4 Love me, love my dog,” is 
a good proverb, Evelina. Pray, do not desjfise 
my poor Frisk ; he is more to me than all the 
other dogs in the world. 

Evelina made no reply ; she cordially hated 
Frisk. 

They had not walked far, before Evelina ex- 


94 


QUEER BONNETS. 


claimed, “ I declare ! There is Jenny Brice 
running after a cow ; I did not think she was 
such a romp.” She then called, “ Jenny, 
Jenny; stop a minute.” 

Without turning her head, Jenny said, “ Is 
that you, Sallie ? I can’t stop, for I am driving 
Mr. Doole’s cow home ; the foolish thing ran 
away from her poor blind master, who, you 
know, cannot tell one cow from another, till he 
is near enough to put his hand on the horns.” 

Mr. Newton and Evelina quickened their steps, 
and joined Jenny. 

u Driving Mr. Doole’s cow !” exclaimed 
Evelina, contemptuously ; “ What an employ- 
ment for a young lady !” 

Jenny perceiving her mistake, bowed grace- 
fully, because naturally, and with entire self- 
possession, to Mr. Newton, and replied to Eve- 
lina : “ I am not a young lady, Miss Evelina ; 
I am a plain, country girl. I am driving Mr. 
Doole’s cow home, because he is a poor neigh- 
bor of ours, who depends much upon this cow 
for support, and as he is nearly blind, he can- 
not find her himself.” 


THE PINK SILK BONNET. 


95 


Evelina . — But don’t you find it very disa- 
greeable ? 

Jenny . — Not at all. I have had fine sport 
running over the fields, this morning. See 
what beautiful mosses and bright berries I 
have found in the woods. 

And Jenny spread out her apron, the corners 
of which she had held together with one hand, 
while, with the other, she held a long branch 
of green willow. 

Evelina Anderson tossed her head with 
snpreme contempt at her mosses and berries ; 
but Mr. Newton said, “How very beautiful 
they are ; the berries are brighter than coral, 
and the mosses are more fresh and green than 
usual; — and there is a curious brown moss, 
with little caps, like extinguishers.” 

“ I am afraid we shall be late,” said Evelina, 
hurrying forward. 

But Mr. Newton continued to walk beside 
Jenny, saying he would help her drive the 
cow. “You have chosen a whip,” said he, 
“ that will not hurt the creature. That willow 
is more graceful than useful.” 

y Isn’t it pretty replied Jenny — “already 


96 


QUEER BONNETS, 


so green. I dearly love tlie willow. The cow 
needs no stick ; I only shake this at her for fun : 
I think she knows me, as well as I know her.” 

“ Excuse me for asking if your name is 
Jenny Brice — Evelina forgot to introduce me.” 
Jenny nodded assent, and Mr. Newton contin- 
ued : “ So you are the schoolmate who walks 
home with Sallie, the girl whom everybody 
calls poor Sallie.” 

Jenny . — I am not rich myself, sir. Grand- 
ma’ says I ought not to be proud. She says 
the Bible tells her “ Pride was not made for 
man.” 

Mr. Newton . — Yery true; but you know 
Providence has made distinctions in society for 
wise and good reasons — distinctions which we 
ought to keep up. You, for instance, are not 
poor, like Sallie. 

Jenny . — But I am not rich like Evelina An- 
derson. Grandma’ has taught me that these 
distinctions are ordered by Divine Providence, 
and that my lot has been cast according to the 
prayer of Agur, “ Give me neither poverty 
nor riches therefore I must not despise the 


THE PINK SILK BONNET. 97 

poor, nor envy the rich — but be contented ; and 
I find it a very easy matter. 

Mr. Newton . — Your grandmother must be a 
very wise woman. 

Jenny. — Grandma’ is a good woman, and I 
think she is the wisest woman in the world ; 
there she is, looking out of our door after me. I 
have been gone too long. 

During this conversation, Evelina had walk- 
ed some distance in advance of them, quite 
displeased at the notice Mr. Newton bestowed 
upon Jenny. 

The venerable grandmother was leaning on 
her crutches, at the door of her cottage, look- 
ing out anxiously for Jenny’s return. Mr. 
Newton bowed politely, and passed on, while 
Jenny said, “I’ll come, in one minute, grand- 
ma’ — there comes Mr. Doole.” 

Mr. Doole tenanted a small habitation, next 
door to Mrs. Brice. He came poking along 
with a cane, unable to distinguish objects 
clearly. 

Jenny. — Ah, Mr. Doole, your truant cow 
had a fancy for a long walk, this morning, and 
7 


98 


QUEER BONNETS. 


so had I. We have had a nice time. I found 
her away down in the Pratt Meadow. 

“ A thousand, thousand thanks to ye, my 
brave young lady,” said the man, as he drove 
the cow into the field. 

Evelina had waited at the cottage for Mr. 
Newton. After parting with Jenny, he said : 
“ What a nice little girl that is ! I like her un- 
commonly well.” 

“ You like every body ; even that ridiculous 
Sallie, yonder,” said Evelina, pointing to Sallie, 
who was swinging on Mr. Doole’s gate, with a 
china milk-jug in her hand. As soon as she 
saw Mr. Newton and Evelina, she jumped off 
the gate, and in so doing, dashed the milk-jug 
to pieces. 

Sallie picked up the handle and two of the 
pieces, and held them together with a doleful 
expression, at which Evelina laughed immo- 
derately. 

“ Mrs. Macer’s best china milk-jug ! Oh, 
dear, dear ; such bad luck, and it isn’t Friday, 
either. What shall I do ?” exclaimed Sallie. 

“ Go and buy another,” said Mr. Newton, 
handing a bright silver dollar over the fence. 


THE TINK SILK BONNET. 


99 


“ No, sir ; I wouldn’t take the dollar, any- 
how. I thank you, but you can’t bring back 
this beloved milk-jug. I don’t know why, but 
Mrs. Macer thinks there’s something wonderful 
about that china jug. She says it belonged to 
a General, or a Corporal, or some other officer.” 

Mr. Newton picked up a bit of the broken 
jug, and said, “It is Dresden china, and a 
handsome pattern, too, but I think if you buy 
her another, she will be satisfied.” 

u No, indeed, she will not. I don’t mind the 
scolding she will give me, so very much- — but 
the loss, sir, the loss, is the thing. She used to 
look at that little milk-jug, just as a heathen 
might, at his idol. I dreaded to touch the 
thing.” 

Mr. Newton dropped the dollar in his pocket, 
and said, “ Give Mr. Newton’s compliments to 
Mrs. Macer, and say, that as he was partly the 
cause of the milk-jug’s being broken, he will, 
send her one of his own, exactly like it.” 

Much comforted, Sallie wiped her streaming 
eyes on her ragged apron ; then her whole 
countenance beaming with gratitude, she looked 
into Mr. Newton’s face, and exclaimed, “ How 


100 


QUEER BONNETS. 


strange, that you, sir, should be so kind to a 
poor girl like me I” 

They had hardly got out of hearing, before 
Evelina said, u I think it is strange, too. Why, 
uncle, you would not have me take any notice 
of that girl, surely. And, as for Jenny Brice, 
I will not speak to her again, because she 
drives cows.” 

Mr. Newton . — I admire Jenny Brice for her 
genuine kindness to the blind man, and I pity 
poor Sallie. I fear she is badly treated by the 
person with whom she lives. I have put some 
dinner in your basket for her, to-day ; you 
must give it to her delicately , Evelina, and, if 
possible, without being noticed by the other 
children.” 

“ Some of my dinner for Sallie, for poor 
Sallie !” exclaimed Evelina, with the utmost 
astonishment. 

“ Some of my dinner,” coolly replied Mr. 
Newton, “ since you force me to say it ; your 
own is at the bottom of the basket. I do not 
wish to blame you, Evelina, but indeed, I can- 
not but think it very remarkable, that you do 
not yet know the pleasure of giving to those 


THE PINK SILK BONNET. 


101 


who need. I could not enjoy my own dinner 
in the presence of any one whom I knew to be 
more in need of it than I was myself.” 

They shortly after arrived at the school- 
house. Mr. Newton handed Evelina her books 
and dinner-basket, turned away from her with 
a look of displeasure, and walked homeward, 
making a comparison between his adopted 
daughter and poor Sal lie, not at all in favor of 
Miss Evelina Anderson. 

Before the noon intermission, Evelina Was 
seized with a strong desire for some of the con- 
tents of her dinner-basket. It was against the 
rules to eat in school, and the baskets were all 
kept in the entry. But Evelina asked permis- 
sion to go and get her pocket-handkerchief, and 
while in the entry, took a hearty lunch from 
the dinner provided for poor Sallie. 

When noon-time came, she had still a vora- 
cious appetite, for gluttons are never satisfied, 
and when, after eating awhile, she surveyed 
the remains of the ample provision made by 
Mr. Newton, there were only a few slices of 
bread, with thin slices of ham between them, 
and some soda biscuit, at the bottom of the 


102 


QUEER BONNETS. 


basket. So Evelina walked by the place 
where Sallie was sitting, busily ciphering on a 
slate, and threw one of the sandwiches at her, 
as she would to a dog, and said, “ Eat that, if 
you are hungry, girl.” 

The sandwich came pat upon the slate. Sallie 
instantly tossed it back into the basket, ex- 
claiming, “ Keep your dinner to yourself, 
Miss.” 

“ Yery well ; if you don’t want it, it’s be- 
cause you don’t know what’s good. I suppose 
you never saw a sandwich before,” said Eve- 
lina, and then gladly devoured every remain- 
ing morsel. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


AN UNEXPECTED VISITOB. 

The next morning, about ten o’clock, some 
one rapped at Mrs. Macer’s door. As usual, 
that lady was amusing herself with one of her 
favorite yellow-covered books, her hair done 
up in papers, and an old shawl around her 
shoulders. 

“ Poll, Poll,” she called : “ go to the door, 
and say I am not at home.” 

Poll Dobson who was washing in the back- 
shed took her hands out of the suds, and ran 
to the door. 

“ Is Mrs. Macer at home ?” inquired Mr. 
Newton. 

“ Come in and you can see for yourself ; I 
don’t think she knows,” said Poll, opening the 
door into the one room of Mrs. Macer. 


104 


ViUEKK BONNETS. 


Mr. Newton, not understanding this singular 
reply, walked in and startled Mrs. Macer from 
the sofa. The book fell from her hand, while 
she stood bowing and curtesying, and saying, 
“ Excuse me, sir • this shocking dishabille 1 
Pray don ? t look at me 1” 

“ I must beg your pardon, madam, for this 
intrusion,” said Mr. Newton ; “ my name is 
Newton ; I reside at Fairbank. I presume this 
is Mrs. Macer.” 

“ I am happy to see you, Mr. Newton, but 
really, I should hardly know myself this morn- 
ing, I have been so neglectful of my person. 
Pray, be seated and Mrs. Macer looked 
around, in vain, for an empty chair ; — clothing, 
cooking utensils, books and newspapers, were 
scattered about in careless confusion. 

Poll Dobson, aware of the mischief she had 
done, in admitting the stranger, stood, peeping 
through the crack of the door, giggling, and 
repeating aloud :• 


a The man in the moon 
Came down too soon,. 

To inquire the way to knowledge/*' 


an unexpected visitor. 


105 


Mrs. Macer shoved aside a basket of stock- 
ings on the sofa, which had stood there for 
weeks, waiting to be darned, and motioned Mr. 
jSTew T ton to take a seat beside her. The gentle- 
man accepted the offered place with as much 
politeness as he would if the sofa had been 
covered w r ith gold brocade. 

“Here is my apology for intruding upon 
you, madam,” said he, taking from a w T rapping- 
paper a beautiful milk-jug of Dresden china. 

“ Oh, yes ; my careless servant, who broke 
the jug yesterday, told me of your polite offer. 
I would not accept it, but the piece broken 
belonged to a valuable set. How strange that 
you should have a match for it.” 

Mr. Newton . — It is quite remarkable ; for I 
ordered mine myself at Dresden, many years 
ago. I had a breakfast and tea-service. 

Mrs. Macer replied, with evident embarrass- 
ment, c< I dare say there are thousands of sets 
of precisely the same pattern.” 

Mr. Newton . — Very possible ; but, Mrs. 
Macer, you must pardon me for asking how the 
broken jug came into your possession ? J 
know it is an impertinent question, 

5 * 


106 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Mrs. Macer . — It does seem so, I confess. It 
came to me by perfectly fair means ; but you 
must excuse me for not going into trifling par- 
ticulars, which could not have the least interest 
for an entire stranger to all the parties con- 
cerned. 

Mr. Newton . — I beg ten thousand pardons 
for having made the enquiry. Did you know 
the strong reasons I had for troubling you, 1 
am sure your kindness would absolve me 
from blame. 

Mrs. Macer . — You are entirely excused. 1 
only shall remember your extreme generosity 
to the naughty girl who broke the jug. In a 
few days I shall have forgotten everything else 
about it. 

Mr. Newton . — The poor girl was grieved at 
her misfortune : though careless she seems 
generous and kind-hearted. 

Mrs. Macer .- — Does she ! I never noticed it. 
She gives me a world of trouble ; but as I took 
her from an Orphan Asylum, I am obliged to 
take good care of her and-send her to school. 
That leaves me with only one servant, who is 
silly and stupid. 


AX UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 


107 


Mr. Newton rose to take leave. “ I beg you 
will call again, sir, with Miss Evelina Ander- 
son, when I am in better order,” said Mrs. 
Macer, extricating, by stealth, one or two 
papers from her hair. 

Mr. Newton bowed politely, and left; not at 
all pleased with his morning visit. Mrs. Macer 
had her own reasons for being even less pleased 
than Mr. Newton. 


CHAPTEK XIY. 


GENEROSITY. 

April had arrived ; — April with its bright 
sunshine and its sudden clouds — aptly com- 
pared with the smiles and tears of youth. 

Mr. Newton liked long walks, and considered 
them beneficial to Evelina. Every morning, 
when the weather was fine, he accompanied 
her to school, and in his friendly manner made 
acquaintance with the children whom they 
met on the way. 

As they were thus walking, one bright 
morning, Mr. Newton said to Evelina, u I hope 
you frequently share your bountiful dinner 
with some of your companions.” 

Evelina colored and looked on the ground. 

Mr. Newton . — I want you to be generous 
from principle, my dear ; you appear not to 


GENEROSITY. 


109 


have generous impulses, but you can cultivate 
a liberal spirit. 

Evelina . — I do not understand you, uncle ; 
you would not Lave me give away my dinner, 
and go without myself, as Jenny Brice some- 
times does. 

Mr. Newton . — Sweet Jenny Brice i Well 
does she deserve the name ! I should be 
delighted to hear that you had made a similar 
sacrifice for once ; I would not have you 
deprive yourself frequently of anything you 
really need for your own comfort, but I wish 
you to share with others your enjoyments and 
pleasures. If you ever come into possession of 
wealth, you ought to spend it in a liberal, 
generous manner. 

Just as Mr. Newton was saying this, they 
were passing Mrs. Macer’s. Out rushed Sallie, 
her sun-bonnet thrown back, and her dark 
curls falling about her face, which was glowing 
with pleasure. In her hand she held a 
bouquet, mostly of wild flqwers, with one pale 
hyacinth, a yellow daffodil, and several blue 
violets. 


110 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Mr. Newton . — Good morning, Sallie. Are 
you fond of flowers ? 

Sallie. — Yes, sir ; I love them dearly. Please 
take them. I have had no chance before this, 
to thank you for bringing Mrs. Macer the 
milk-jug. Oh, that w r as so kind in you ! 

Mr. Newton . — I love flowers, too ; but I fear 
you intended your bouquet for some one else. 

Sallie . — I did tie it up for J enny Brice, but 
I wish you would take it. I have got another 
hyacinth, and two daffodils, that will be blown 
out for her to-morrow. Please take th^ DQ 
flowers, if you like them. 



Mr. Newton took them, saying, “ So you 
were going to give these to sweet Jenny Brice. 
She is your friend V ’ 

Sallie. — Ah, sir, indeed she is ; the only 
friend I have in the w r orld, excepting the 
schoolmaster. Jenny has always something to 
give me, and I hardly ever have anything to 
give her. She loves flowers as well as I do ; 
and I have watched mine every day since they 
peeped out of the ground, and they have been 
so good as to blossom before Jenny’s have 
thought of it. 


GENEROSITY. 


Ill 


Mr. Newton . — In return for your ilowers, 
shall I send you a bouquet from my garden, or 
shall I send it to Jenny. 

Sallie . — To Jenny, by all means ! and I’ll 
thank you a thousand times. 

Mr. Newton . — You have a garden of your 
own, it seems. Come to Fairbank, and I will 
give you some roots to transplant. 

Sallie . — Thank you, sir ; I have fenced off 
a little corner that I call my garden ; and I 
work in it when I have nothing else to do ; 
• just after sundown, and sometimes by moon- 
light. Oh, sir, it is the greatest pleasure I 
have in the world, next to walking to school 
with Jenny. 

Evelina . — Your finger-nails look as if you 
digged your garden with your hands. 

Sallie. — Well, I do use my hands, for I Have 
nothing else but an old knife. (Sallie blushed, 
and hid her small hands under her apron.) J 
was at work, trying to make a gate to my 
garden, long before sunrise this morning, and 
I have been so busy since, that I have had no 
time to wash my hands. 


112 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Evelina . — I hope you will not insult the 
school by going in that condition. 

Sallie. — No, I will not ; for here we are at 
Mrs. Brice’s ; and I can go in and make myself 
more decent. 

So saying, Sallie opened the gate, and went 
on to the cottage. 

The rudeness of Evelina had given as much 
pain to Mr. Newton as it had to poor Sallie. 
Tie had such generosity of disposition, and 
such natural kindness, that he could never 
endure to see any one suffer. He noticed that 
Sallie had more natural sensibility than Eve- 
lina, and though she endeavored to conceal 
her mortification, she had keenly felt Evelina’s 
rude remarks. He was unwilling even to 
reprove harshly ; but as soon as Sallie left, he 
said, “Evelina, I am ashamed of you. Is it 
any reason, because you are neatly and ele- 
gantly dressed, that you should treat with con- 
tempt a poor girl, who probably has not time 
to attend to her personal appearance, and thus 
wound her delicate feelings 2” 

Evelina. — Feelings! Delicate feelings! 


GENEROSITY. 


113 


Why uncle, you jlon’t suppose that filthy girl 
has any delicacy of feeling. 

Mr. Newton . — That disgusting word again ! 
I beg of you to remember my entreaty, that 
you will not sully your mouth with it. We 
ought to be extremely careful not to wound the 
feelings of persons whom Providence has 
placed in a humble condition. It is a mean- 
ness I cannot tolerate, for any one to be 
haughty and contemptuous towards the poor. 

Evelina . — I presume you would not have 
me make a companion of poor Sallie. 

Mr. Newton . — ISTot in one sense — the laws 
of society forbid that ; but I wish you to make 
her your friend. 

Evelina . — My friend ! That is worse yet ! 

Mr. Newton . — You mistake. By kindness 
and consideration you may attach the poor 
girl to you, without making her your com- 
panion. The love of one generous heart like 
hers, is worth more than the shallow pro- 
fessions of thousands whom you call your 
equals. 

They had now reached the school-house, and 
Mr. Newton bade Evelina “ Good morning.” 

8 


114 


QUEER BONNETS. 


He soon met Jenny and Sallie, hastening to 
school. “ Sallie,” said he, “ come this eve- 
ning to Fairbank, and I will give you the 
flower-roots to put out in your garden ; I am 
hastening home to put your bouquet in water.” 

“ Isn’t he kind !” exclaimed Sallie, her great 
eyes glistening with tears ; “ I have never had 
any body but you, J enny, speak so kindly to 
me, since my dear mother went to Heaven.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

FAT F11ISK. 

It was a lovely sunset after the mild April 
day. The whole earth, as if refreshed by the 
long sleep of winter, was rousing herself, and 
putting on beautiful attire. 

Sallie obtained permission to go to Fairbank 
for the promised flowers. She took a small 
basket on her arm, .and joyfully hastened 
thither. 

As she walked through the long avenue of 
elms and horse-chestnuts, leading to the man- 
sion, she stopped now and then to notice how 
the fresh green leaves of the latter were burst- 
ing from the buds where they had been closely 
sealed up during the cold weather. "While 
thus standing near the house, the old doo- came 


lie 


QUEER BONNETS. 


out of his kennel, and barked as loudly as his 
fat and laziness would allow. 

Though Sallie was afraid of ghosts, she was 
not afraid of dogs ; so she snapped her fingers, 
and said, 44 Come here, fat fellow.” 

The dog trotted up to her, smelled and 
snuffed about her, and then wagged his tail and 
licked her hand. 

44 Good fellow ! good fellow !” said Sallie, 
patting his head. 

The dog jumped up, with wonderful spirit, to 
her face, and gave it a lick. 

“ Be quiet, Frisk said Sallie, 44 You are 
too familiar, on a short acquaintance.” 

Mr. Newton, who had been w r atching Sallie 
* * 

as she walked up the avenue, now came out to 
meet her, and called Frisk to him, saying, 
44 Why, old fellow, you wish to make a new 
friend. You must like dogs, Sallie. Frisk is 
not usually pleased with strangers.” 

Sallie . — I do like dogs, especially when they 
like me. But, come, Frisk, that’s enough. 

The dog had continued his awkward caresses. 
Miss Mira now stepped out on the front piazza. 

44 What ails that ’are dog V said she. 44 lie 


FAT FRISK. 


117 


always does bark at beggars, but I never saw 
him so furious, before. Go away, gal ; we 
haint got no cold vitlles , to-day, and — 55 

Mr. Newton hastily interrupted Miss Mira. 
u You mistake, Mira, this is Sallie, come by 
my express invitation, for some flower-roots 
Come this way, Sallie . 55 

The gentleman then led the way to a large 
garden, the other side of the house — but, first, 
he was obliged to fasten Frisk to his kennel. 

With a trowel, he carefully took up such 
flowers as Sallie pointed out, pinks, tulips, 
hyacinths, &c. &c., until the basket was full ; 
then he tucked the trowel into it, saying, 
“ That’s an uncommonly handy thing to man- 
age roots with ; you will want it when you set 
them out in your garden ; keep it, if you please. 
And now, we will go into the conservatory and 
select a bouquet for sweet Jenny Brice . 55 

The large conservatory occupied all one side 
of the house. It was, roof and all, covered 
with glass, and filled with a great variety of 
flowers, in blossom, brought from the green- 
house. 

Oranges and lemons, glowing amid their 


118 


QUEER BONNETS. 


dark leaves — camelias of every known variety 
— gay azalias — here a bright cactus, and there, 
delicate pink ones, — the mingled perfume of 
mignonette, tea-roses and geraniums : — poor 
Sallie thought she was in fairy-land, and 
walked through the conservatory, bewildered 
and enchanted. 

“ Now, Sallie, select any of these flowers 
that you choose,” said Mr. Newton. 

“ Oh ; I couldn’t think of picking any of 
these beautiful flowers. How you must have 
laughed at my poor little nosegay !” 

“ No, indeed, Sallie. I placed it in a vase in 
my own room ; it reminds me, forcibly, of the 
widow’s two mites, and is more valuable than 
the most splendid bouquets that could be gath- 
ered from this conservatory.” 

So saying, Mr. Newton took out his pen- 
knife, and began cutting off here and there a 
flower, until he had made a gay collection. 
“What else shall I add, Sallie — do choose 
some yourself.” 

Sallie . — It wants but one more flower to 
make it perfect — that pure white one, with the 


FAT FRISK. 


119 


dark, glossy, green leaves. That seems to me 
like sweet Jenny Brice, herself. 

Mr. Newton . — This white Camelia Japonica ? 
Certainly you shall have it ; — you pay your 
friend quite a delicate compliment by the com- 
parison. 

Bailie . — She deserves it ; indeed she does. 

When the bouquet was completed, Mr. New- 
ton asked Sallie if she would wait a moment, 
and take a piece of cake, after her long walk. 
She colored deeply, and whispered, “ No, sir ; 
that woman would call me a beggar, if I did. 

Mr. Newton . — You must excuse Miss Mira, 
she does not see very plainly, through those 
big spectacles. 

Bailie . — I know I dress like a beggar, but I 
would rather starve than beg. And Sallie’s 
face glowed rosy red, like the sunset cloud 
which still lingered in the west. 

Mr. Newton . — I hope, however, you don’t 
refuse to share, occasionally, Evelina’s bounti- 
ful dinner. 

Bailie — She never offered me any but once, 
and then I threw it back, because I was as 
mad as fire. Excuse me, sir, I couldn’t help it; 


120 


QUEER BONNETS. 


she tossed it at me in such a proud way. I 
wouldn’t treat Frisk so, for any thing. 

Mr. Newton . — I am sorry Evelina offered it 
so ungraciously. She ought to take lessons in 
generosity from you and Jenny Brice. 

Sallie. — Don’t mention me in that way. I 
can’t be generous, if I would. Your gene- 
rosity does not make me feel angry. I am 
very thankful, so thankful that I do not know 
what to say. Good bye, sir. 

And the tears, always very near poor Sallie’s 
eyes, dropped upon the flowers behind which 
she hid her face. 

They were now passing near the kennel. 
Frisk whined and begged to be let loose. Mr. 
Newton bade Sallie good bye, and as she 
walked down the avenue he looked after her, 
and said to himself, “ It is strange that old 
dog should know so much better than the old 
woman, that Sallie was not a beggar girl. He 
has a saucy habit of barking at beggars and 
pedlars, and they never can coax him. Dogs, 
surely, have something beyond what we, with 
human pride, call instinct.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 
jenny’s bouquet. 

Plow happy was poor Sallie that night ! She 
flew to her own room and placed the bouquet 
in a broken tumbler, saying “ How, rats ; don’t 
you dare to touch these beautiful flowers.” 

Then she went to set out the roots in her 
garden. 

Behind the old house was a large, unoccu- 
pied lot, or field, which from the regular little 
knolls that dotted it over, must once have been 
a cornfield, after it had been given up as the 
garden to the house. One corner of this field 
Sallie had fenced off with carved mahogany 
balusters, from the broken-down staircase. To 
be sure, the square thus fenced in was not 
larger than a common dining-table, but it was 
her garden, her own beloved garden. 


122 


QUEEK BONNETS. 


The moon looked down, calm and bright, 
upon the open field, and gave Sallie sufficient 
light to set out the flower-roots. One after 
another she took from the basket the tulips, 
the carnations, the pansies, jonquils, and other 
flowers wflth which Mr. Newton had heaped it 
up, and with the smooth, sharp trowel placed 
them in the ground. 

Lovingly she spoke to each. “ Oh, you 
grand tulip ! What a beauty you will be ! I 
shall give you to Mrs. Macer. I think she 
must admire tulips ; she is like a tulip, though 
not so pretty. 5 ’ 

u Pansies ! Pansies ! Jenny loves you, dar- 
lings ; you must do your prettiest for her sake.” 

“ Precious carnation pink ! Who would 
have thought poor Sallie would ever own such 
a flower ! How proud I shall be to carry the 
first that blossoms to Mrs. Brice !” 

For the first time in her life, Sallie felt 
religious emotion, not mingled with super- 
stition. As she knelt in her little garden, she 
lifted up her eyes and heart to Heaven, and 
whispered, “ The great God who made these 
flowers is good to me, though I am but a poor, 


JENNY S BOUQUET. 


123 


wicked orphan girl. I am sorry 3 am not 
better.” 

Beneath the great blue sky, with its beauti- 
ful stars and clear-shining moon, she was free 
from the fears that tormented her, nightly, in 
her dark garret. Here, in the freedom of 
space, her soul expanded, but more than this — 
the kindness of a fellow-being had filled her 
generous heart with grateful emotion. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE BLACK PONY. a 

Before going to school the next morning, 
Sallie had to run and take a look at her 
garden. Very little order there was, in its 
arrangement; but that was nothing to Sallie. 
“You look like the minister’s old fashioned 
pew, my darling garden ; and by and by you 
will look more like it still, when you are filled 
with gay company.” And Sallie, with a 
gladsome heart, tripped away to carry the 
beautiful bouquet to Jenny Brice. No belle 
at a ball ever carried a bouquet with such pure 
joy as filled Sallie’s generous heart, as she 
bore the lovely flowers in triumph to her little 
friend. Again she came up with Mr. Newton 
and Evelina, on their way ta school. Frisk 
had been permitted to accompany them. As 


THE BLACK TONY. 


125 


soon as be saw Sallie, he ran to her, wriggling 
about his fat body as though he would wriggle 
himself out of his skin, for joy. 

Mr. Newton . — Good morning, Sallie ; your 
visit yesterday did Frisk a deal of good : he 
is lazy because he has nobody to play with 
him. 

“ Good fellow', Frisk !” said Sallie, and the 
dog jumped up and licked her cheek. 

Evelina . — The nasty thing ! I would not 
have him lick my face for the w 7 orld. 

Mr. Newton . — There is no danger that he 
will ; dogs and children are good physiogno- 
mists — they know their true friends. 

Quite displeased, Evelina walked rapidly 
forward. 

Sallie carried a small tin pail in her hand, 
which served for a dinner-basket. Mr. FTew r ton 
said : 

“ Take off the cover of the pail, Sallie ; I 
have some raisins and almonds to add to your 
dinner.” 

She lifted the cover, and the pail was empty. 

Sallie. — Oh ! I was so engaged about my 


126 


QUEER BONNETS. 


flowers, this morning, that I forgot about my 
dinner, and snatched up the empty pail. 

Mr. Newton regarded Sallie with a searching 
glance, which said, “ Do you tell the truth ?” 

Sallie colored, and instantly replied, “ I do 
go without sometimes, and don’t mind it much. 
To-day I really did forget it.” 

The clear eye and honest face of poor Sallie 
removed doubt from the mind of Mr. Newton. 
He found something in Sallie’s character, that 
wonderfully harmonized with his own. 

“ Oh, there comes Jenny,” exclaimed Sallie, 
running forward to meet her, and leaving the 
tin pail in Mr. Newton’s hand. The chicken 
pie, and bread and butter, with which he filled 
it, reduced Evelina’s dinner to a moderate one, 
over which she undoubtedly grumbled. 

“ Me I Those magnificent flowers for me !” 
exclaimed Jenny Brice. 

Sallie < — Yes ; Mr. Newton gathered them 
for you from his fairy palace. 

Jenny . — They do indeed seem like fairies 
themselves ; — oh, how beautiful, how beautiful ! 


THE BLACK PONY. 


127 


and was admiring the delicacy of Sallie in not 
mentioning why he had gathered them for 
Jenny. 

Jenny. — Mr. Newton, I am so obliged to 
you for these splendid flowers. If you have no 
objections, I will give them to grandma’ ; she 
is a dear lover of flowers. 

Mr. Newton . — No objection ! Certainly 
not. I am glad to be the means of giving 
pleasure to any one. 

Jenny ran in, left the bouquet, and soon 
joined the party on the way to school. They 
chatted pleasantly, in spite of Evelina, who 
strode on ahead, without deigning to take the 
least notice of them ; much wondering how a 
gentleman like Mr. Newton could condescend 
to amuse himself with two such poor girls. 

Harry Thomson was the son of the only 
lawyer in the village. He was a merry boy, 
the leader in fun and mischief, who governed 
the children on the play -ground as completely 
as the master governed them in the school- 
room. 

Harry did not really dislike poor Sallie, but 
it was easy to make sport of her, and play oft* 


128 


QUEER BONNETS. 


practical jokes upon her ; such as filling her 
hair with burrs, pinning papers on her back, 
and tying mullen-stalks to her apron-string. 
Harry was daring and independent, fearless of 
every one but Jenny Brice. She was as inde- 
pendent as himself, and was the protector of 
Sallie. Jenny would join in every innocent 
sport, but the moment anything wrong was 
proposed, she drew back and remonstrated. 

Just as Mr. Newton and the girls came near 
the school-house, Harry cantered up in grand 
style, on a black pony. Alexander was not 
more proud when he mounted the fiery Buceph- 
alus, than was Harry Thomson, as he bestrode 
Scipio. Harry remembered the name of 
Scipio Africanus, in Roman history, and think- 
ing the latter name must have been given be- 
cause the Roman general was a negro, called 
his black pony Scipio ; which the conqueror of 
Africa would not have taken for a very great 
compliment. But boys, even proud and smart 
ones, are liable to mistakes. 

Harry snatched his cloth cap from his head, 
and stuck it on again, in a twinkling, for a 


THE BLACK TONY. 


129 


bow, as he passed, and then touched up Scipio 
with his rattan, to make him show off. 

“ A fine boy that !” exclaimed Mr. Newton. 

“ Handsome — quite handsome,” said Eve- 
lina. 

Harry rode under a shed, fastened the pony, 
and came to the school-door, dusting his panta- 
loons with the rattan. 

u A fine morning for a ride, sir,” said Mr. 
Newton. 

“ Charming,” replied Harry, “ and my horse, 
Scipio, is in grand spirits. He could trot 
twelve miles an hour with perfect ease.” 

Frisk began to bark at Harry — he did not 
like the boy or the rattan. 

“ Be quiet, Frisk,” said Mr. Newton ; but 
Frisk growled and snapped at Harry. 

“ Hold your saucy tongue, you ugly dog,” 
said Harry, lifting the rattan to strike Frisk. 

Sallie instantly stretched out her arm, 
received the blow, drew it back, and covered it 
with her shawl. 

“ Sallie ! Sallie !” exclaimed Jenny, “ that 
must have hurt you, severely.” 


130 


QUEER BONNETS. 


“ Not so much as it would have hurt Frisk/’ 
said Sallie. 

The dog seized hold of Harry's pantaloons 
and Mr. Newton shook the boy by the left 
shoulder, exclaiming, “ You young rascal, how 
dare you strike that poor girl.” 

“ I meant to strike your ugly dog,” said 
Harry, giving Frisk a tremendous blow with 
the hand that was still free. The dog ran ofi 
yelping, while Mr. Newton snatched the whip 
from Harry’s hand, and gave him a smart 
stroke across his back. 

Mr. Hollister now came out to enquire abou\ 
the rumpus. When it was explained, he said. 
“ Oh, Harry, fie ! fie ! I am ashamed of you ; 
beg the gentleman’s pardon.” 

“No sir, I will not. The dog barked at 
me, and I meant to hit him. I am sorry I hurt 
poor Sallie, and am willing to tell her so, for I 
didn’t mean to ; Mr. Newton has had full satis- 
faction,” said Harry, shrugging up his shoul- 
ders. 

“There is some reason in what you say,” 
replied Mr. Newton, whose momentary anger 


THE BLACK BONY. 


131 


had vanished, holding out his hand in a friend- 
ly manner, “ Let us be friends.” 

“ I don’t feel friendly towards you, sir,” said 
Harry, without extending his hand. 

“ Sallie, I am sorry for you and the poor 
dog ; now I know how my cane makes a fellow 
tingle.” 

a Oh, don’t mind me, Harry; but you won’t 
strike Scipio again, so hard, will you, now you 
feel how it hurts ?” said Sallie. 

Mr. Hollister rang the bell, and the children 
went into school. 

Mr. Hewton walked slowly homeward, re- 
volving in his mind whether it were possible to 
relieve poor Sallie from the unpleasant situation 
in which she was placed with Mrs. Macer. 
That lady did not intend to be cruel to her 
handmaiden ; it was through carelessness and 
neglect that Sallie was rendered uncomfortable. 
To be sure, Mrs. Macer now and then boxed 
her ears, or gave her a sudden pinch, when 
under the influence of a hasty temper ; but that 
produced only momentary pain. The great 
trouble to Sallie was, that nobody cared for 
her ; and she would often sit on the stone, by 


132 


<^UEEK BONNETS. 


the back-door, and cry bitterly, because she 
was lonely and had nobody to give her a 
kind word. She was attached even to Mrs. 
Macer, and would have really loved her, had 
that neglectful woman sometimes inquired 
whether she was cold or hungry ; whether she 
liked her school ; whether she learned her 
lessons in short, had taken some interest in 
her welfare. But, no ; Mrs. Macer was selfish 
and thoughtless ; moreover, she did not feel her 
responsibility to God for the treatment of an 
orphan who was altogether entrusted to her 
care. Mrs. Macer was net, a Christian. 


CHAPTER XVIII, 

A HIDE THAT WAS NOT PLEASANT. 

At the noon intermission, the children 
crowded around Harry Thomson’s pony. 

“ Let me ride! let me ride!” came from a 
dozen shrill voices. Among the loudest was 
Evelina Anderson’s. 

“ Ho, no, Evelina ; you can ride enough at 
home. Here, Jenny Brice, you may ride ; let 
me help you to mount Seipio.” 

“ But I just want to whisper to you Harry,” 
said Evelina, in the most insinuating manner; 
“I wouldn’t let that vulgar Jenny Brice ride 
my beautiful pony, if I were you ; she drives 
cows in the street, and keeps company with 
poor Sallie.” 

“ Who cares for that ! You’d better mind 
your own business, Miss. Come, Jenny, step 


m 


QUEER EON NETS. 


up on the £ horseblock,’ and I will bring Scipio 
along side.” 

Thus urged by Harry, Jenny said, u Indeed, 
I don’t know how to ride, but I will try,” and 
she stepped up on some stones, placed one 
upon another, that served for a “ horseblock.” 

“ You need not be afraid, Jenny ; Scipio is 
as gentle as you are,” said Harry, as he 
gathered up the reins and put them into 
Jenny’s hands. Then he lightly touched the 
pony with his rattan, telling Jenny to keep 
tight hold of the reins. 

The pony, accustomed to that same rattan, 
started off; just as he did so, Sallie, delighted 
to see Jenny thus exalted, clapped her hands 
and shouted with all her might. 

The pony broke into a full canter ; the child- 
ren ran screaming, “ Stop him, Jenny ! Stop 
him !” 

This frightened the animal, and he went as 
fast as he could gallop. The saddle was a 
v smooth, boy’s saddle, and Jenny felt that she 
could not keep her seat. She slipped her foot 
out of the stirrup, and sprang to the ground. 
The pony galloped homeward. 


A RIDE THAT WAS NOT PLEASANT. 135 

“ Oli dear ; she’s dead ! she’s dead !” ex- 
claimed Sallie, who was the first to reach 
Jenny. 

“ If she’s dead, you killed her,” said Harry, 
as he came up to the spot. “ You it was, that 
frightened Scipio.” 

“ Jenny, darling, speak to me,” said Sallie, 
in an agony of terror. 

Jenny groaned, and tried to speak. 

u Ilun for some water,” said Harry. 

A dozen of them ran tumbling over each 
other, and impeding the haste of all. One of 
them brought water in a tin cup, spilling it as 
he ran, until not a drop remained ; another 
broke the pitcher — the only school pitcher, by 
the way. 

Harry and Sallie, who knelt by Jenny, and 
untied her bonnet, thought it an age before 
they could get a drop of water. 

Jenny had fainted. Harry, at last, ran and 
filled his cap at a brook in the field, and when 
he had dashed the water in Jenny’s face, she 
revived. 

11 Oh J she isn’t dead I she isn’t dead ! Jenny, 


136 


QUEEK BONNETS. 


my most precious Jenny, speak to your poor 
Bailie.* 

Jenny said, “ Don’t be frightened, Sallie ; I 
am not much hurt. I think I could walk, now, 
to the school-house.” 

Harry and Sallie helped Jenny to rise from 
the ground, and led her slowly along, with the 
wondering, sympathizing children, walking 
solemnly in front of them, turning their eyes 
every other minute, with anxious looks, to 
Jenny. She was bruised badly, but no bones 
were broken. 

The eager children spread their shawls and 
cloaks on a bench, and Jenny lay down, just 
ready to faint again. 

w It was all owing to that good-for-nothing; 
Sallie,” said Evelina Anderson. 

“Don’t blame Sallie,” said Jenny, “she 
would not hurt me for the whole world.” 

Sallie rushed out of the school-house. A 
sudden thought had struck her. She met Mr. 
Hollister, told him of the accident, and that 
she was going to Fairbank to ask Mr. Hewton 
to send his carriage to take Jenny home. Mr. 


A RIDE THAT WAS NOT PLEASANT. 137 

Hollister gave permission and hastened to 
Jenny. 

Sallie ran all the way to Fairbank, full 
speed, and when she arrived, was so out of 
breath, that she could scarcely ask the servant 
at the door, for Mr. Newton. 

“ 1 ou can’t see him, no how,” said the 
waiter ; “ he is jist sot dowm to dinner. 

16 But I must see him, and I will” replied 
Sallie, diving by him into the entry. The 
smart waiter, much displeased, hastened to the 
dining-room, opened the door, and said, 
“ Here’s a sassy gal, says she will see Mr. 
Newton.” 

Sallie was already inside the door, heated 
and panting for breath. 

“ Oh, Mr. Newton ! Oh, Mr. Newton !” she 
exclaimed, “ Jenny Brice is almost killed.” 

“ What is it, Sallie ?” demanded Mr. New- 
ton, throwing down his knife and fork. 

Sallie . — Harry Thomson’s pony ran away 
with Jenny, and she jumped off, and is awfully 
hurt. # I came to ask you to send your carriage 
to take her home ! 

Mr. Newton . — That I will, most certainly. 


138 


QUKKIi JiONNKTS. 


Brown, tell Martin to have the carriage at the 
door, as quickly as possible. Sit down and 
rest yourself, Sallie. 

“ In the hall, girl,” said Miss Mira, as she 
saw Sallie settle herself in a chair covered with 
Miss Mira’s own precious worsted work. 

“ Let her sit where she is, Mira ; don’t you 
see the child is completely exhausted with 
running and fright. Are you not very tired, 
Sallie ?” 

Sallie made no answer ; her eyes were fixed 
upon the fine picture over the mantel-piece. 
Mr. ISTewton continued : 

“ I will finish my dinner while they are put- 
ting the horses to the carriage, and then I will 
go with you.” 

The chair in which Sallie had seated herself, 
was directly opposite the mantel- piece. Sallie’s 
eyes did not wander an instant from that beau- 
tiful picture. 

Mr. ISTewton glanced at her, now and then, 
as he hurried down his dinner ; at length he 
said, “Sallie, you would hardly know your 
friend Frisk, there ; he was much younger and 
thinner when that was taken, than he is now.” 


A RIDE THAT WAS NOT PLEASANT. 139 

Sallie. — And yet lie looks more natural, 
there, to me. 

Mr. Newton. — You mean more as a dog 
ought to look. 

SalUe. — dSTo, sir ; I mean just as I say ; it 
seems to me as if I had played with Frisk 
when he looked just like the dog there. 1 
wonder how I came to know his name. 

Miss Mira. — I s’pose you heard him called 
by name ; or if you didn’t, there is ten thou- 
sand dogs of that name, and one dog bears a 
strong dissemblance to any other dog. 

Sallie. — It seems, too, as if I had seen that 
lovely lady before, and I am sure I have seen 
the pretty child. 

Mr. Newton. — It is because you have seen 
yourself, Sallie. I told Miss Mira that I 
thought you looked like that little girl. 

Miss Mira. — That is sheer nonsense, Timo- 
thy. It’s all in your eye ; you thought Eveliny 
looked like that picter — and you think this gal 
looks like it, when they bear no more dissem- 
blance to each other, than a cat and a frog. I 
hope you are not going to ’dopt every gnarly 


140 


QUEER BONNETS. 


brat you see, ’cause they look like that pictur’ 
child of yourn. 

Mr. Newton . — Spare the feelings of a be- 
reaved father ; you cannot understand them. 

By this time the carriage was at the door. 
Mr. Newton, as he seated himself in it, said, 

Jump in, Sallie, and sit on the seat opposite 
me.” 

He then ordered the coachman to drive 
rapidly to the school-house. For some moments 
after, Mr. Newton remained silent and thought- 
ful, with his eyes fixed on the forlorn child 
before him ; he then broke out suddenly : 
“ And where did you live, Sallie, before you 
were with Mrs. Macer ?” 

Sallie . — In a very large house, where there 
were a great many orphans, like myself. 

Mr. Newton . — An Orphan Asylum. Where 
was it ? 

Sallie . — I don’t know, sir. 

Mr. Newton . — What is your surname, Sallie ? 

Sallie . — They never called me anything but 
Sallie, there ; but Mrs. Macer says I have an- 
other name, Sabor. I just remember being 


A RIDE THAT WAS NOT PLEASANT. 141 


called by some such name, when I was a very 
little girl. 

Mr. Newton . — Were they kind to you at the 
Asylum ? 

Sallie . — I don’t remember any great unkind- 
ness. It seems now as though nobody took 
any more notice of me, than if I had been a 
wooden child ; only that I was fed and clothed, 
and walked out in a procession with fifty or 
more children, in blue frocks and white pina- 
fores. It must have been in a city, for there 
were a great many houses and people, by which 
we were hurried as we passed through the 
streets. 

Mr. Newton . — How old are you, child ? 

Sallie . — I don’t know exactly. Mrs. Macer 
says I am about thirteen. I must have been 
five or six years old when my dear mother 
died. Father had then been dead a long time. 

Mr. Newton. — Can’t you remember either of 
them ? 

Sallie . — I remember my sick mother lying in 
a bed with white curtains. She gave me her 
wedding ring. 

Here Sallie burst into tears, and Mr. Hew ton 


142 


QUEER BONNETS. 


said, soothingly, u Poor child ! Say no more 
about the melancholy past. Let us look at the 
present. I am afraid your position is far from 
comfortable. Would you like to leave Mrs. 
Macer?” 

Sallie. — Oh, no ; sir. I can’t do that. How 
would she get along without me ? 

Mr. Newton . — But I fear you suffer from — 
from — (Mr. Newton would not say hunger ) — in 
short, how would you like to live at Fairbank? 

Sallie . — I should ’not like to live there at 
all, as a servant to Miss Evelina Anderson. I 
know Mrs. Macer’s ways and should not care 
to change. 

Mr. Newton . — Not exactly as a servant, but — • 
The gentleman did not know exactly in what 
capacity to place Sallie. 

Sallie . — Do not be uneasy about me, sir. I 
have got quite used to the rats, and am not 
half as much afraid of ghosts as I w T as when 1 
first came here. 

Mr. Newton . — Rats and ghosts ! 

Sallie described the old lumber-garret. Be- 
fore she had done, they reached the school- 
house. 


A ItIDE TUAT WAS NOT PLEASANT. 143 

Jenny had fallen asleep where the children 
had laid her. Mr. Newton lifted her tenderly 
into the carriage, and told Evelina to follow. 
She did so, grumbling and pouting. 

Jenny leaned her head on Mr. Newton’s 
shoulder. “ It was very wrong for that scamp, 
Harry Thomson, to put you on his pony,” said 
he. 

Jenny.' — Oh, no ; he was very kind. I alone 
was to blame, for attempting to ride when I 
didn’t know how. I thought grandma’ would 
not like it, at the time ; and I ought to have re- 
fused, for I am always punished when I do con- 
trary to her wishes. Bnt pride got the better 
of me ; and you know pride must have a fall. 

Evelina . — So you did deserve it, richly ; for 
you were delighted because Harry preferred 
you to me. You felt mighty grand. 

Mr. Newton. — Evelina ! Evelina ! After 
Jenny has confessed so much, it is ungenerous 
— mean, to reproach her. Jenny, I should 
never have suspected that you were proud. 

Jenny . — But I am, sir; I try to drive out the 
evil passion, but it will come, in some shape 
or other again and again. 


144 


QUEEK BONNETS. 


Evelina. — I wish it would keep you from 
driving cows, and going with poor Sallie. 

Jenny . — It does not trouble me to drive a 
blind man’s cow when he needs her ; nor to 
show kindness to a poor girl. Everybody in 
the village knows me, and I am just the same 
to them, whether I go with Sallie or with you. 
Besides, I really enjoy a walk with her, she is 
so bright and entertaining. 

Mr. Newton . — I should not think pride was 
y our besetti ng si n . 

Jenny . — I am proud of grandma’. When 
any one treats me contemptuously, I think, 
u Never mind, you haven’t such a grandma’ as 
I have.” Then I am proud of not being rich. 

Evelina. — Proud of not being rich ! That is 
impossible ! 

Jenny . — I can’t explain this queer kind of 
pride, exactly. I feel a sort of silly exultation 
because I can be somebody, without much 
money. There, now, Mr. Newton, grandma 5 
would say that I had talked quite too much 
about myself, and I beg you to excuse me. 

Mr. Newton . — I had no right to force you to 
confess so much. I must make acquaintance 


A BIDE THAT WAS NOT PLEASANT. 145 

with jour good grandmother. And here we 
are, at the door ; I will go in first and explain 
to her what has happened. 

Jenny . — -No ; no ; she will be too much 
alarmed to see you ; let me get out. The 
faintness has gone, and I feel much better. 

The nice old lady was sitting in her usual 
place, netting a fish-net for her poor neighbor, 
Doole. 

Jenny introduced Mr. Newton and Evelina, 
and he explained what had happened. 

“ It was poor Sallie who frightened the pony 
and caused all this trouble,” said Evelina, 
spitefully. 

Mrs. Brice . — I know Sallie did it uninten- 
tionally, then ! for she has a great, noble, gen- 
erous heart ! You look pale, my own darling. 

Mr. Newton . — ¥e will leave you, Mrs. 
Brice, now, and come to-morrow morning, to 
enquire after Jenny, hoping to find her much 
better. 

As they passed out, they met Sallie, who, 
almost out of breath with running, had come 
to assist Mrs. Brice and Jenny. 

“ A great, noble, generous heart,” said Mr. 

10 


146 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Newton, as the carnage rolled towards Fair- 
bank. 

“ What is that you are saying to yourself, 
uncle demanded Evelina. 

“ A great, noble, generous heart !” he re- 
plied. “ What would I not give to have you 
deserve such praise as Mrs. Brice bestowed 
upon poor Sallie !” 

Evelina was given to pouting. Her lips, in 
fact, had grown into a fixed pout ; not a pretty 
one, either, and when she was much displeased 
they looked like (what a comparison !) a snout. 

It w r as Sallie who made the sage-tea for 
Jenny. It was Sallie who warmed the bed 
and put sugar in the warming-pan, to take out 
the cruel bruises. It was Sallie who sang 
Jenny to sleep with her own favorite song, 
“ Home, Sweet Home” ; though to Sallie there 
was indeed, “ No spot on earth like Home.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A REJECTED PROPOSAL. 

The next morning Mrs. Brice welcomed Mr. 
Newton most cordially. It was not alone be- 
cause be brought Jenny a fresh bouquet, and 
nice calves’-foot jelly, but because he took such 
genuine, kind interest in her beloved grand- 
child. 

Jenny was better than she had dared to hope, 
after so serious an accident, but she thought to 
keep in her bed for the day, would be advis- 
able. 

Mr. Newton was glad to find Mrs. Brice 
alone, and said, “ can you spare a few moments 
from your patient ?” 

Mrs. Brice . — Perfectly well ; for Sallie is 
with her. She begged permission to stay from 


148 


QTTEEK BONNETS. 


school for the purpose of nursing her young 
friend. Pray be seated, sir. 

Mr. Newton . — It may surprise you to see me 
take so deep an interest in Jenny and Sallie, 
but I have peculiar reasons for it. 

Mrs. Brice . — I am not surprised. I consider 
them both interesting in their own way, and I 
think Sal lie’s exceedingly trying position would 
call forth sympathy from any benevolent per- 
son. Surely, your kindness needs no apology. 

Mr. Newton . — It is about Sallie that I wish 
to consult you. I lost an only daughter, who 
would have been about her age. To make up 
the sad loss as far as possible, I adopted the 
child of a distant relation, because I fancied 
she resembled my departed darling. Evelina 
Anderson I cannot love as I thought I should ; 

I have shown her every kindness, and unlimit- 
ed indulgence, yet she manifests neither grati- 
tude nor affection. 

Mrs. Brice . — Gratitude is an emotion which * 
only noble minds can feel. 

Mr. Newton . — You have been able to excite 
that emotion in Sallie. 

Mrs. Brice . — Have I, indeed ! Very little 


A REJECTED PROPOSAL. 


149 


Lave I done for her. She is grateful even to 
Mrs. Macer, because she allows her to work for 
her, and sleep in a lumber garret ! 

Mr. Newton . — She forgives all the wrongs 
she has received, and is generous towards that 
neglectful, unkind woman. She has won my 
admiration and esteem. I wish to do some- 
thing for the child, but cannot invent anything 
that does not seem too romantic. It would not 
answer for me to adopt another daughter ; it 
would, perhaps, be unjust to Evelina. I am 
blest with ample means to do good, and instead 
of founding an Orphan Asylum, I wish to aid 
orphans in my own peculiar way. I w^ant 
your advice, for I am said to be fantastical and 
romantic. I am still haunted by resemblances. 
Sallie bears a stronger resemblance to my own 
little girl, than Evelina does, and I have de- 
cided on releasing her from her present situa- 
tion. 

Mrs. Brice . — Are you not somewhat hasty 
about this important matter ? 

Mr. Newton . — I am perhaps governed by 
what may be termed generous impulses, rather 


150 


QUEEK BONNETS. 


than by principle. I wish to place Sallie with 
yourself, madam, and your sweet Jenny. 

Mrs. Brice . — I am very sorry for Sallie, but 
I could not receive her into my quiet cottage ; 
her careless habits would give me too much 
trouble. 

Mr. Newton. — But, Madam, you wish to do 
good from principle. 

Mrs. Brice . — But I must choose my own 
way, as you do, sir. Sallie would, in daily 
life, be a great disadvantage to my Jenny. 
Beside being careless, she is fearfully super- 
stitious, and has never been taught good man- 
ners. 

Mr. Newton. — Jenny’s influence upon Sallie 
would be the governing influence. Only con- 
sider how the poor girl is placed ; — sleeping in 
a garret where the rats run over her ; half 
starved ; no word of kindness ever spoken to 
her ; the very clothing she wears making her 
an object of pity to some, and ridicule to 
others ; — a poor, forsaken, homeless orphan. 

Mrs. Brice . — I have counted the cost. Jenny 
has been educated with the greatest possible 
care, yet her habits and principles are not so 


A REJECTED PROPOSAL. 


151 


firmly fixed as to allow me to venture upon the 
plan you propose. 

“ I have mistaken your character, madam,” 
said Mr. Newton ; his habitual politeness giv- 
ing way for the moment to angry feeling. 

Mrs. Brice . — It may be that I am not gene- 
rous to Sallie, but I am just to my own grand- 
child. 

Mr. Newton took leave and wended his way 
homeward, with feelings of chagrin and disap- 
pointment. 

The next morning Jenny was much better, 
and in a few days was again at school. 


CHAPTER XX. 


CHANGE FOB THE BETTEK. 

The month of April with its sunshine and 
showers, its bursting buds, and delicate, fragile 
flowers, had given place to May — the idol 
month of poets, with her deeper green and 
gayer flowers. 

Sallie’s first tulip had bloomed. Oh, how 
anxiously that precious tulip had been watched 
from the first pushing of the reddish green 
leaves above the ground, till it stood proudly 
erect upon its tall stem and unfolded its purple 
and yellow petals. 

Sallie gathered it, placed it wnth some green 
myrtle in the Dresden china jug, and gave it 
to Mrs. Macer. 

“ Why, Sallie, where did you get this splen- 
did tulip P r exclaimed Mrs. Macer. 

Sallie . — I raised it in my own garden, from a 
root Mr. Hew ton gave me. 


CHANGE FOR THE BETTER. 


153 


Mrs. Macer . — He seems to have taken a 
great fancy to yon, Sallie. He was enquiring 
about you, to-day. But your garden, Sallie, 
where is it ? 

Sallie . — Have you never seen my precious 
garden ! Why, I have seven kinds of flowers 
in bud at this very time. That is my first 
tulip. I wish you would come and look at it, 
for now that I don’t go to school I keep it in 
first-rate order. 

Mrs. Macer actually went to see the garden, 
and much wondered at Sallie’s ingenuity in 
making the fence of the old balusters, and her 
success in cultivating her flowers. 

“ Beally, Sallie,” said she, “ I am much 
obliged to you for the splendid tulip.” 

Sallie was so touched by the first really kind 
words Mrs. Macer had ever spoken to her, that 
large tears stood in her dark eyes, and the color 
in her cheeks deepened. 

u Come in the house, now, I have something 
to tell you.” They went in, and Mrs. Macer 
told Sallie to sit down, and then said, u Mr. 
Hew ton wants you to go to school ; he has per- 
suaded me to give you to him. He wishes to 


154 


QUEER BONNETS. 


have you board somewhere in the village and 
go to school.” 

Sallie . — I don't understand you, marm. 

Mrs. Macer . — You know there is nobody to 
claim you, and that you were bound out to me 
till eighteen. Mr. Newton has paid for your 
time, and you are free. The papers are all 
made out by Mr. Thomson, the lawyer. 

Sallie . — I had rather stay with you, marm, 
than to go among strangers. What will you 
do without me? 

Mrs. Macer . — I shall find some one to 
supply your place. 

Sallie . — I hope she won’t be so careless and 
forgetful as I have been. Where am I to go ? 

Mrs. Macer . — For the present, to Fairbank, 
till Mr. Newton has made other arrangements. 
Evelina Anderson has gone away to boarding- 
school. 

Sallie . — To Fairbank ! Oh dear, dear, dear ! 
I am not fit to go to Fairbank. It frightens me 
to think of it. Let me stay with you, and if 
Mr. Newton will pay you for my board, we 
can live very comfortably. I should like much 
to go to school again. 


CHANGE FOE TIIE BETTER. 


155 


Mrs. Macer . — I am touched by your gene- 
rosity, Sallie. I have not been as kind to you 
as I ought to have been. You cannot stay 
with me, for I am going away from Snowton to 
Dermerville. In short, Sallie, to confess the 
truth — I am going to be married. 

Sallie . — Married ! May I ask who is to be 
your husband ? 

Mrs. Macer. — Mr. Nazy ; the gentleman you 
have seen here several times of late. But, 
Sallie, I thought you would be delighted to go 
to Fairbank. Think what a beautiful garden 
there is there ! 

Sallie . — I wish it was sweet Jenny Brice 
instead of poor me. She knows how to behave 
like a lady. What should I do, if I had to be 
dressed like a doll and stuck up in the parlor, 
wdien I have no right to be there. Bad luck, 
bad luck. 

Mrs. Macer . — The best luck in the world. 
You are a very strange girl. * 

Sallie . — You w T ould not say so, marm, if you 
only knew how that woman up there goes pry- 
ing into everything about the house, through 
her big specs. I think I can hear her saying 


156 


QUEER BONNETS. 


to me, 44 Don’t muddy the carpet 44 Don't 
put your fingers on that nice table 44 Don’t 
spill your tea !” Oh dear, dear ! it is a very 
grand place — too grand, marm, for poor Sallie. 
Didn’t she say to me , 44 Don’t sit in that chair ?” 
She will do-dont me from morning till night. 

Mrs. Macer . — But Mr. Newton will be very 
kind to you, and will not allow Miss Almira to 
harass you. Besides, it is possible that he may 
send you away to school. 

Sallie . — I do like Mr. Newton, but I don’t 
want him to support me ; I am old enough and 
strong enough to support myself. 

Mrs. Macer . — You are the silliest child that 
ever I saw. Why, you will live like a princess. 

Sallie was not silly ; she never made a more 
sensible remark in her life. She had felt, 
although very young at the time, what it was 
to be dependent. Since she had been with 
Mrs. Macer, she knew that she was more than 
earning her support, and, in the midst of many 
privations, she preferred it to living on charity. 
Mr. Newton was almost a stranger to her, and 
it was in a sad tone, that she enquired, 44 When 
am I to go ?” 




CHANGE FOR THE BETTER. 


15 


“ To-day.” 

“ To-day ! Who is to stay with you, marm 3” 

“ I am going to leave, myself, to-morrow.” 

Sallie ran up to the old lumber-garret, sat 
down on the floor, covered her face with her 
apron and wept. Strange as it may seem, she 
had become attached to a place she called her 
own, in spite of rats and ghosts. Nobody had 
intruded upon her, there ; every object had 
become familiar, and even the tall mirror, with 
its broken glass, seemed a friend. 

When Mrs. Macer called her down, her eyes 
were red and swollen with weeping. 

Mrs. Macer. — Fie ! Fie ! Sallie. Wash your 
face and hands, and make yourself ready to go. 
Here is a ring of yours, the French baker 
handed me yesterday ; he says you left it in 
pawn for bread for me. Poor Sallie ! I had no 
idea you could be so generous — it’s really quite 
romantic. 

Sallie most gladly placed the ring on her 
finger. 

The pink bonnet, now soiled and bent into 
numberless angles — the dirty shawl torn in 
slits, a dingy calico frock and miserable shoes 


158 


QUEER BONNETS. 


and stockings, in which poor Sallie arrayed 
herself, formed a striking contrast with the 
silk-lined carriage into which she soon after 
stept with fear and trembling. 

“ Good bye, Sallie,” said Mrs. Macer, 
shaking hands with the poor girl. “ There is a 
band-box to go with you. I am sorry I had not 
time to prepare you for going. Be a good 
girl, Sallie. Farewell !” 

u Oh forgive me, marm, for all my careless- 
ness ; for all the crockery I have broken,” said 
Sallie.. 

Poor Sallie was no longer the bound-out girl ; 
that made a mighty difference to Mrs. Macer ; 
but the few words of kindness to the artless 
Sallie effaced every remembrance of hardship 
and neglect. She sobbed out her “ Good-bye,” 
and the carriage drove off to Fairbank. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


AWKWARDNESS AND DISCONTENT. 

Mr. Xewton handed Sallie out of the 
carriage, and led her up stairs to the door of 
one of the front bedrooms. He gave her the 
key, and said, u These are your rooms, Sallie, 
the bed-room and dressing-room adjoining. 
All the wearing apparel, the dressing-case, 
work-box, &c., you find within, are yours. 
We dine in about an hour. Dress yourself 
neatly, and be sure to be ready when the din- 
ner-bell rings ; Miss Almira is very punctual. 
There will be two bells rung !” 

The coachman now handed up the old band- 
box. Mr. Hewton thinking it contained Sal- 
lie’s miserable wardrobe, said, “ Put it away 
in the closet, I suppose you will not need to 


160 


QUEER BONNETS. 


use any of its contents at present as a deli- 
cate hint to Sallie not to appear at dinner in 
anything she had ever worn before. 

Sallie entered the spacious bed-room, and 
turned the key inside. For a moment or two 
she remained without advancing a step, stupi- 
fied with astonishment. 

On one side of the room was a rosewood 
bedstead, with white lace curtains, suspended 
from a gilded wreath of flowers, hanging in the 
form of a tent around the pure white bed. 
The window-curtains w r ere of the same embroi- 
dered lace, with outer curtains of blue damask. 
Between the windows was a dressing-table, 
with white marble top and large mirror, sup- 
plied with a dressing-case, containing combs, 
brushes, and all other appliances needful for 
the most refined toilette. Then there was a 
large bureau with the drawers open, displaying 
wearing apparel, and a wardrobe whose open 
doors seemed to invite poor Sallie to help her- 
self to the dresses within. Another open door 
led to the dressing-room, with its bathing 
apparatus. 

Sallie stood in a complete maze, breathless 


AWKWARDNESS AND DISCONTENT. 161 

and trembling. A superstitious awe crept over 
her ; everything seemed to her excited imagi- 
nation weird and supernatural. At length she 
gained courage to step softly forward ; she was 
startled by a figure advancing to meet her. 
She absolutely shrieked with terror. Fortu- 
nately, no one heard the shriek. The figure 
was Sallie’s own, in a large cheval-glass which 
stood nearly opposite the door. It was in very 
truth a startling sight to one who had never 
before seen herself reflected from top to toe. 
Sallie’s first thought was, “ How tall I am for 
a girl not quite fourteen !” The next was, 
“ What a forlorn-looking creature ! Why, this 
frock is entirely outgrown ! It’s clear up above 
my ankles. ITow could Mr. Newton take a 
fancy to such a distressed-looking girl ! What 
stockings and shoes ! What a bonnet !” And 
Sallie actually laughed at herself. 

The first bell rang for dinner. Sallie threw 
off her bonnet and shawl on the floor. What 
should she put on % She dreaded to touch a 
single article. Before she was half-dressed, the 
second bell rang. She hurried on the first 
11 


162 


QUEER BONNETS. 


frock she laid her hand upon. It happened to 
be the best in the wardrobe. 

A gentle tap at the dooi gave her new alarm. 

“ Who is it ?” she ventured to ask. 

“ It’s only me, Miss. I am Bridget, the 
chambermaid, and have come to help you !” 

Sallie opened the door, and Bridget assisted 
her to finish dressing, and then showed her the 
way to the dining-room. 

The rustle of the rich silk, as Sallie moved 
along, seemed to her excited mind like the 
whispering of evil spirits reproaching her. 

Mr. Is’ewton rose from the table where he 
was already seated, and formally introduced 
Miss Sallie Sabor to Miss Almira Cuffman. 

A blindness came before Sallie’s eyes; she 
could scarcely find her way to the chair behind 
which a waiter stood bowing and beckoning. 
“ Sallie Sabor /” thought she, wonderingly. 

Miss Mira sat up stiff and glum, looking as 
though she had fed all her life on sour-krout. 
Sallie had been accustomed to take her scanty 
meals standing, in the back-shed, or sitting in 
a corner, by a low bench. For two or three 
years she had not eaten a regular meal at table. 


AWKWARDNESS AND DISCONTENT. 163 

No wonder she did not know how to manage a 
napkin, and silver fork 1 Is it astonishing 
that she spilled the soup on her new silk dress, 
cut her mouth with a knife, and knocked over 
a goblet of water? Is it incredible that she 
could' not swallow two mouthfuls ? She felt 
choked up to her very lips, and the tears kept 
coming into her eyes. Miss Mira scowled and 
fidgetted and groaned, and groaned and fid- 
getted and scowled, but she had promised 
Mr. Newton to make no remarks, and was 
obliged to keep her word. 

Mr. Newton heaped Sallie’s plate with one 
thing after another, but how could she swallow ! 
He talked to her kindly, but how could she 
answer a word ? 

To her great relief, Frisk found his way to 
the dining-room, came to her side, licked her 
hand, and looked lovingly in her face. He 
was a friend in need. Two great tears rolled 
over Sallie’s cheeks, but there was “ a smile on 
her lip.” 

“ This is a bran new trick of that ’are dog ; 
turn him out,” said Miss Mira, to the waiter. 

“ No, no, let him alone ; he has come to 


QUEE.R BONNETS. 


164 

welcome lus friend. Good fellow ! How did 
you know she was here? Sallie, if you really 
will not take any dinner, you may have a run 
with Frisk in the garden, and I will soon join 
you there,” said Mr. Newton. 

Sallie was glad to be relieved from .the tor- 
ment of sitting at table, and could breathe 
again when she found herself in the open air. 
With Frisk and the flowers she was quite 
cheerful. 

As soon as she w T as out of hearing, Miss Mira 
began, “ Now, Timothy, don’t you see how 
absurd you are ? You might as well bring a 
pig from the gutter to your table ? The slut- 
tish thing, she put on the very best dress the 
first day, and was the ruination of it.” 

Mr. Newton . — You must give the fright- 
ened thing time to recover. She flutters like a 
newly-caged bird. Have patience, Mira, and 
teach her how to behave. 

Miss Mira . — She will never be a becoming 
person at our table. 

Mr. Newton . — But the blue silk was wonder- 
fully becoming to her. The likeness of which 
I have so frequently spoken was more striking 


AWKWARDNESS AND DISCONTENT. 1()5 

than ever. Even her small hands are like 
Tiers. And Mr. Newton pointed to the portrait 
over the mantel-piece. 

Miss Mira . — You are the most prantastic 
man that ever trod sole-leather. Sallie’s red 
paws, with their ten black nails, like those lily- 
white hands yonder ! Timothy ! you sartingly 
are getting into your doterage. 

Mr. Newton . — Yet I am ten years younger 
than you. 

Miss Mira . — You wont outlive your crotch- 
ets and whim-whams if you should live to be 
as old as Bethuselah. 

Mr. Newton . — I must have something to love 
and to live for. I do not wish to marry again. 

Miss Mira . — Marry ! That would be worse 
than any crankum you have yet taken into 
your noddle. 

Mr. Newton. — Agreed. Then you must be 
very kind to Sallie. I shall leave home this 
evening for a few days, and you must do every- 
thing in your power to make the house agree- 
able to our young friend. I will go to her 
now, and try my best to make her feel at ease. 

As Mr. Newton left the room. Miss Mira 


QUEER BONNETS. 


166 

brought down her fist so forcibly on the din- 
ner table, that all the glass rang and rattled — • 
“ He shan’t marry again, at any rate,” said 
she to herself. 

Mr. Newton found Sallie in the garden, 
kneeling on the soft, dark mould, inhaling the 
fragrance of a rose-geranium. She started up 
when she saw the expression of his counte- 
nance, sure that she had done something 
wrong, but not conscious what it was. Poor 
Sallie had been accustomed to take no more 
care of her clothing than a cat does of its skin, 
and when she knelt before the beautiful flower, 
she did not think of her beautiful silk frock, to 
which she had added two large dark stains. 
The expression of displeasure on Mr. Newton’s 
benevolent countenance, soon gave place to a 
kindly smile. 

“ Sallie, I have brought you a few raisins 
and an orange from the dessert, which you did 
not taste, and have come to eat my nuts with 
you, while we walk about the garden. Go and 
get your white sun bonnet, for you must not 
come in the garden without a bonnet.” 

Sallie ran up stairs to her room. There lay 


AWKWARDNESS AND DISCONTENT. 167 

every article of dress she had taken off, scat- 
tered about — she kicked them into a heap in 
one corner, and from the wardrobe took down 
the snowy-white bonnet, leaving the prints of 
four dirty fingers from her very first touch. 

The walk in the garden was delightful, not- 
withstanding Sallie’s adding plenty of orange 
juice, to the soup and the dirt stains on her 
blue silk dress. Mr. Newton told her he was 
exceedingly pleased with her love of flowers, 
and then he described the cactus and other 
tropical plants as he had seen them growing in 
their native clime. He spoke of the manners 
and customs of different nations — the filth of 
the Hottentots contrasted with the neatness of 
civilized and refined nations, and ended with a 
gentle moral lecture on the beauty of neatness 
in dress and person. He ended by saying, 
“ Now, Sallie, go to your room, take a bath, 
and change your dress throughout. Excuse 
me for reminding you to brush carefully your 
hair, teeth, and nails.” 

Poor Sallie had never owned a brush of any 
kind, and never had used any but a scrubbing- 
brush. She was pondering over Hie variety of 


168 


QUEER BONNETS. 


brushes in her dressing-case, when Bridget 
entered. “ I have come to fix your bath for 
you, Miss. Here, now, you see you turn this 
’ere silver thing when you want cold water, and 
t’other for warm. Then you can have your 
bath as warm or as cold as you please. I 
guess you never seed a bath before,” said 
Bridget, with a sneer. 

It will be remembered that Sallie was very 
sensitive to ridicule ; she felt that she was an 
object of contempt to Bridget, and resolved 
she would have no more assistance from her. 

The bathing and brushing, vigorously per- 
formed by Sallie, wonderfully improved hei 
appearance, and when she went down to tea in 
a simple white dress, though her complexion 
was browned by exposure, and her hands quite 
red, she was as pretty a girl as one ought to 
wish to see ; Miss Mira herself confessed that 
she was “ quite decentish.” 

Again, at table, that awful constraint came 
over her, and with difficulty she took a swallow 
of w T ater and a bit of toast — saying she did not 
wish any tea. The fact was, she was afraid of 
breaking one of those Dresden china tea-cups. 


AWKWARDNESS AND DISCONTENT. 169 

As for cake, slie durst not touch a morsel from 
the silver cake-basket. 

Soon after tea, Mr. Newton told Sallie she 
might retire to her room, as he had an engage 
m-ent ; he did not mention that he wa& going 
to leave home. 

When Sallie entered her room, two tall sper- 
maceti candles, in silver candlesticks, stood 
lighted upon her dressing-table ; the bed- 
clothes were folded down, and her night-dress 
placed on the pillows. Again she saw herself 
in the cheval-glass and started with terror. 
The superstitious awe to which she was subject 
came over her with overwhelming power. She 
imagined the lights burnt blue. Every object 
about her assumed a ghost-like appearance. 
The innocent, tasteful bed-curtains to her were 
frightful ; she wouldn’t sleep under them, she 
thought, for the world, on that pure white bed. 
She walked about on tiptoe, holding her breath, 
or sat on the floor, with her eyes fixed on those 
shadowy curtains, till she began to be sleepy. 
Then she threw herself on the carpet, covered 
herself with the hearth-rug, and soon fell 
asleep. 


170 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Bridget was sent by the careful Miss Mira, 
to put out the lights. There was no one in the 
bed, it was just as she had arranged it. She 
saw the heap near the fire-place, and found that 
it was poor Sallie under the rug. So she extin- 
guished the candles, stept softly out of the 
room, and gently closed the door. Then she 
went down to the kitchen, and amused the 
other servants by telling how the new-comer 
lay on the floor because she did not know a 
bed was made to sleep in any more than she 
did that a bath-tub was made to bathe in ; and 
they all considered it the best joke that Bridget 
had ever told ; though they didn’t believe it 
was true. 


CHAPTEB XXII. 


A DAY AT FAIRBANK. 

When Sallie awoke the next morning, it was 
sometime before she could convince herself that 
she was not still dreaming. She rubbed her 
eyes and pinched her arm to know if she were 
really wide awake. “ True,” said she, “ it is I, 
poor Sallie; I don’t know why they call me 
Sabor. Yesterday morning I was dressed in 
dirty ragged clothes, and slept in the old 
garret !” 

She started up at the sound of the breakfast- 
bell. She was already dressed, but so wrinkled 
and tumbled ! While she was deliberating 
what to do, Bridget came to say that it was the 
second breakfast-bell, and Miss Mira was wait- 
ing. So Sallie hurried down just as she was ; 


172 


QUEER BONNETS 


Bridget walking behind her ready to giggle 
out at the new-comer’s odd ways. 

Though Sallie w’as now absolutely hungry, 
she could eat but little, while the keen eyes ot 
Miss Mira were fixed upon her. 

That stately person, merely condescended to 
‘.dorm her that Mr. Newton had gone from 
home, for a few days, and had left w r ord that 
Sallie might take the carriage and call for 
Jenny Brice to come and pass the day with 
her. At this announcement Sallie brightened, 
and found words to thank Miss Mira. 

From real delicacy towards her dear Jenny, 
Sallie now put on the plainest dress she could 
find, and the white sun-bonnet, instead of a nice 
straw one which hung beside it in the ward 
robe. From the same motive she begged the 
coachman to stop a few doors from Mrs. Brice’s 
cottage. Sallie was so truly generous that she 
could not bear to seem superior, in any respect, 
to her dear Jenny. 

Mrs. Brice and Jenny had not heard a 
syllable about the sudden change in Sallie’s 
condition, and were much surprised when she 
ran in as usual, without knocking, threw her 


A. DAY AT FAIKBANK. 


173 


arms around Jenny’s neck, and kissed her 
again and again. Was it not queer? Sallie 
had never dared to kiss sweet Jenny before. 
She had felt the wide distance between them ; 
now, that she was nice and clean, like her 
friend, and overjoyed to see her, she could not 
bear to release her from the close embrace. 

“ Why, Sallie ! how neatly you look !” 
exclaimed Mrs. Brice. 

Sallie . — I suppose I do, but I don’t feel that 
I have any right to these nice things. Mr. 
Newton has taken me to Fairbank to live, and 
given me lots of nice frocks and everything a 
lady could think of to use and to wear. Oh, 
Jenny, I wish it was you instead of me. 

Jenny, the staid little Jenny, jumped up 
and down, and clapped her hands, saying, 
“ Oh, I’m so glad ! I’m so glad, I don’t know 
what to do !” 

“ Do !” said Sallie, “ come with me to Fair- 
bank ; Mr. Newton’s carriage is waiting for us, 
just by the corner yonder. Please, Mrs. Brice, 
let her go with me.” 

Mrs. Brice . — She may go ; but Jenny first 
take the' gmgeroread out of the oven 


174 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Jenny took the gingerbread out of the oven. 

While Mrs. Brice asked dozens of questions, 
Sallie’s eyes were on the gingerbread, and its 
delicious flavor had apparently rendered her 
quite deaf, for she answered none. 

Her wishful, or rather devouring look, was 
noticed by the old lady, and she told Jenny to 
break up a “ card” of it and hand it round. 

“ Oh, how excellent it is, Jenny !” said 
Sallie, gobbling it down so hot that it almost 
burnt her throat; “ I am hungry as a bear, and 
never tasted anything so nice in all my life ; 
and to think you made it, too !” 

They did not doubt that Sallie was hungry, 
when they saw piece after piece disappear, till 
the whole “ card” was gone, and wondered 
much that she could have so voracious an 
appetite. 

“ I don’t feel easy at Fairbank, and my meals 
choke me there,” said Sallie. “ I wonder if I 
shall ever be able to eat before that awful Miss 
Mira.” 

As Jenny and Sallie entered the hall at Fair- 
bank, they were met by the “ awful Miss 
Mira.” An ominous frown was on her brow. 


A DAY AT FA1JRBANK. 


175 


“ Sallie Sabor,” said she in an angry tone, 
“ was there ever such a slut brought into a 
decent house ? Go to your room ; show this 
tidy-looking girl how you have left it, and per- 
haps she will teach you how to put up your 
clothes in their proper places. You are to 
keep that elegant room in perfect order, girl. 
Throw away or give away the nasty duds you 
brought with you. Mr. Newton says I must 
make you neat, but a mighty task I shall have 
of it. I would as soon undertake to make old 
Frisk dance a hornjnke . Go along ! Don’t 
stand staring and gaping at me as if I was 
some monstrous persimon of my sect” 

Sallie gladly escaped with Jenny to her 
room, and found it, indeed, in sad confusion. 
Sallie gave herself up to crying, but Jenny 
went about putting everything in place. “ Oh 
this nice, beautiful silk dress. Is it possible 
you have only worn it once. It ought to have 
lasted years. I am sorry you are so careless, 
Sallie. Can't you learn to be neat?” said 
Jenny. 

“ What’s the use ?’* sobbed out Sallie. u It 
only gives one a mighty deal of trouble.” 


176 


QUEUE BONNETS. 


u Not when you are once accustomed to it ; 
then it saves a great deal of trouble. Have 
you looked at this beautiful work-table ?” 

44 No ; I didn’t know what it was.” 

Jenny lifted the top of an inlaid work-table, 
and showed Sallie all the conveniences of scis- 
sors, needles, spools, &c , &c., within. 

44 A gold thimble, too, marked 4 Sallie.’ I 
should think you would be delighted,” said she. 

44 If I could only feel that I had a right to 
all these beautiful things !” answered Sallie, 
sorrowfully. 

44 But you have. Look here ! If here isn’t 
a purse with money in it — a green and gold 
purse ! Was ever anybody so generous as Mr. 
Newton,” said the delighted Jenny. 44 Let’s 
see what’s in it ; open it, Sallie. A little paper 
parcel directed to 4 Sallie Sabor.’ ” 

Sallie unrolled the paper, and found in it 
twenty-five dollars in gold. On the paper was 
written, 44 Spending money for Sallie ; to be 
used generously and prudently.” 

44 Take it, Jenny, purse and all — it is yours. 
I am so glad I have something to give you at 


A DAY AT FAIRBANK. 177 

last,” said Sallie, poking purse and money into 
Jenny’s hand. 

“ No, no ; not a penny of it,” replied Jenny. 
u You are to use it prudently as well as gene- 
rously.” 

Sallie . — It is just the most prudent thing I 
can do with it, Jenny. Pray take it, Jenny, 
for I have here more than I shall ever use. 
Such lots of things ! 

Jenny . — Let us look at all your nice clothing. 
You may soon want gloves or shoes, and then 
you will not be obliged to ask Mr. Newton for 
them. He is so thoughtful and kind. 

Sallie. — Ah, if I could only feel that I had 
a right here, and knew how to behave. But I 
don’t and I can’t. 

Jenny . — Your dressing-room ! Is it not 
charming? Do you take a bath every day? 
I have a cousin in New York who has just such 
nice things ; and when I was there, I enjoyed 
her bath more than anything else. 

Sallie . — Every day! How could you think 
of such a thing! Once a week I should think 
would be quite enough. 

Jenny . — Every day, Sallie ; it is a pleasure, 
12 


178 QUEER BONNETS. 

and not a trouble. You know you must be 
very, very neat. 

Sallie . — What a trouble ! Just such bad 
luck must come to me. 

Jenny. — No, no, Sallie ; you are naughty. 
A kipd Providence has given you one of the 
best of friends in Mr. Newton. 

Scdlie . — I can’t enjoy anything here. I feel 
as if I were walking on eggs all the while. I 
can’t believe I am the same girl I was yester- 
day. 

Jenny . — Come ; let me curl your hair ; you 
have very pretty hair, Sallie, if you only keep 
it in order. 

Sallie. — Don’t flatter me, Jenny ; pray don’t. 
I am a poor, disagreeable, ugly thing ; not fit 
to be in this grand house, and be rigged out in 
these elegant things. You say I ought to be 
grateful — ought is one thing, and is another. 
I wish I could throw myself in the fish-pond. 

Jenny . — Oh ! don’t be so wicked ! Now we 
have put all things in order, let us go about 
the garden and greenhouse. 

Sallie . — I cannot feel that I have any right 


A DAT AT FAIRBANK. 179 


to go even into the garden. I seem like an in- 
terloper — hut I will go with you. 

Jenny . — Throw off all these scruples ; try to 
feel free, and enjoy what is so kindly and so 
freely given. 

Sallie . — I do try, hut I cannot enjoy ai 
here, under the eye of Miss Mira. 

The garden, however, drew Sallie’s'Tj^ughts 
from everything disagreeable, and she wander- 
ed about with the delighted Jenny till the 
dinner-bell rang. 



/ 


Miss Mira had taken a new whim into her 
ungracious mind. She was utterly silent, sit- 
ting up stiff and forbidding as a statue of chalk, 
at the head of the table. The waiter carved 
and handed the girls what they needed ; but a 
dose of ipecacuanha could not more effectually 
have spoiled their appetite than did the silent, 
scowling somebody, who did not even look at 
them. 

Jenny endeavored to talk to Sallie, but her 
voice sank to a whisper, and finally ceased 
entirely. 

As soon as the formal ceremony of dinner 
was over, Miss Mira said to Jenny : 


180 


QUEER BONNETS. 


“ Little girl, you can run home, now ; there’s 
no need of a carriage for one who has used 
nothing but sheep’s trotters all her life.” 

Jenny was not slow to obey this order. She 
avas soon on her way ; Sallie followed her to 
ate, and when they parted, both were in 

Sallie returned to the house she met Miss 
a on~the piazza. 

Go to your room,” said she. “ Throw’ out 
all the miserable things you brought with you, 
and have them burnt ; no doubt there’s grease 
enough in them to make a sjolenderiferous bon- 
fire.” % 

Sallie retreated to her room glowing with 
anger. 

Jenny had put everything in order, laying 
away Sallie’s old garments by themselves. The 
poor girl now felt an attachment for them, and 
determined to put them in the bandbox that 
had been sent, and keep them out of sight. 

She opened the band-box for the purpose. 
There, was the big velvet bonnet that had 
caused her so much mortification. There w T as 
the milk-jug of Dresden china given by Mr. 


A DAY AT FAIRBANK. 


1S1 


Newton to supply the place of the one she had 
broken ; besides, there were a few cups and 
saucers, and two plates of the same china, 
which Mrs. Macer had only used on special 
occasions. Then there were fragments of 
dresses such as Sallie remembered to have 
worn ; several lace caps, as yellow as jafiron, 
and a soiled white satin dress, made in very 
old fashion. At the bottom of th^randbox 
were several books. 

The first that Sallie opened was a Bible. On 
the fly-leaf was written, “ S. S. Belknap ; with 
the love and blessing of her mother, on her 
seventeenth birth-day.” 

S. S. B. — the very initials on her mother’s 
wedding-ring! 

The next, a well-worn copy of Wilson’s 
Sacra Privata. Besides, Young’s Night 
Thoughts, Cowper’s Task, and Jeremy Taylor’s 
Holy Living. 

“ Can it be that these things belonged to my 
mother!” exclaimed Sallie. “ Why, if they did 
not, should Mrs. Macer have sent them here * 
Oh, mother, mother, tell me what to do ! where 
shall your poor child go ?” 


182 


QUEEli BONNETS. 


Sallie waited in breathless agitation, as 
though she expected indeed to hear the voice 
of her sainted mother. She was still sitting on 
the floor in the midst of these mementoes when 
the tea-bell rang. Sallie took no notice of it, 
dArmined to absent herself. Bnt Miss Mira 
sei^feridget with peremptory orders to have 
her (x>mh down immediately. 

She^^nt w T ith a flushed face and beating 
heart. The moment she lifted the cup of tea to 
her lips, it fell and dashed to pieces, and the 
tea was spilled over the table. 

Miss Mira shrieked, jumped up, gave Sallie 
a push that sent her out of her chair, half across 
the room, and t<5d her not to show her face 
down stairs again till she had learned to behave 
herself. 

Sallie hastened to her own room, and turned 
the key of the door. 

The twilight now gleamed through the win- 
dows, and gave a soft, melancholy hue to every 
object. 

“I will not stay here,” exclaimed Sallie, 
passionately. u I will go to Mrs. Macer and 


A DAY AT FAIRBANKS 


183 


ask her about my mother ; and then, I will go 
somewhere and work for my living.” 

With mysterious awe the girl folded the 
satin dress which she doubted not had been 
her mother’s bridal attire, and replaced it with 
the other contents of the bandbox. Thejphe 
dressed herself in the clothing she had worn 
from Mrs. Macer’s, and hung up or hid away 
every article she had worn at Fairbanks 

Her old stockings and shoes had disappeared ; 
and having determined to wear nothing that 
she had not brought with her, she was forced 
to go barefoot. 

“ I cannot stay here,” she whispered to her- 
self, “where my mother haunts me like a ghost.” 

Sallie forgot that ghosts are the most unreal 
things on earth. 

By the time the poor girl was ready to 
depart, the full moon had risen, and the white 
curtains were even more fearful to her excited 
imagination than by twilight. 

She took the small Bible, supposed to belong 
to her mother, and put it in her pocket, with 
the dollar Mrs. Macer had given her at parting. 
Then she stepped softly with her bare feet out 


184 


QUEER BONNETS. 


of the room, locked the door, and as she went 
down stairs, placed the key under the stair- 
carpet. As she swiftly glided dovn the avenue 
to the gate, Frisk came after her, as fast as he 
could ; he did not bark, but whined piteously. 

a Poor fellow,” whispered Sallie, “ I can’t 
take you along, it would not be right. Go 
back.” But Frisk followed her to the gate, 
and it was some time before she could shut 
him in, and escape. Then she ran, full speed, 
towards the old house where sPe intended to 
pass the night. No one met her on the way. 
When she reached the house it looked dismal 
and forsaken ; with trembling limbs she climbed 
up to the dormant window on the low roof, and 
easily gained admittance. 

Everything there was just as she had left it. 
As the moonlight fell upon the old looking- 
glass, it seemed the face of a familiar friend. 
The clothing she had left lay scattered about. 
She made up a small bundle, and then lay 
down without undressing, on the old cot-bed- 
stead, from which the thin straw bed had not 
been deemed worth removing. 

It was long before she could sleep. Of all 


A DAY AT FAIRBANK. 


185 


the omens that Sallie dreaded, none was more 
terrific to her than the howl of a dog. As it 
now reached her ear, it made her shudder and 
wrap her head in the pillow. In this way she 
fell asleep, and did not awake till the early 
dawn came in at the window. 


i 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


RUNAWAYS. 

Sallie started up ; remembered slowly how 
she came to be asleep in the old place, and 
soon made her way to the ground. There was 
Frisk, wagging his tail for joy ; he it was, who 
had so terrified Sallie late at night. The little 
French baker over the way, was just opening 
his shop-window, as Sallie stepped out of the 
front door of the old house. He beckoned to 
her to come across the street. 

u Hab you get yotir leetle ring? I gib it to 
de lady for you. Ver’ sorry I loose him so 
long.” 

“I have it on my finger;” said Sallie, show- 
ing the ring. “ Please sell me a couple of 
rolls.” The baker handed the rolls and Sallie 
offered him the silver dollar Mrs. Macer had 


RUNAWAYS. 


187 


given her. He threw it on the counter, it rang 
“ good and true.” 

“ Dis all de moneys you hab ?” he enquired, 
meaning, “ have you no change ?” 

Sallie blushed as she replied, “ It is, sir.” 

“ Yell, den, you may hab de rolls to-day for 
nothing, and not leave de leetle ring. De lady 
was much pleased vid you when I gib her de 
ring. She say, 4 good girl, good girl.” 

Sallie bade the baker good morning, and 
walked rapidly away, followed by Frisk. 
When she reached the road leading to Fair- 
bank she tried to induce the dog to go home. 
She coaxed, and she threatened ; she even took 
up a stone, pretending she would throw it at 
him. lie looked frightened and ashamed, but 
crouched at her. feet and turned his great eyes 
wistfully up at her face. 

44 Well, then, I must run away from you, 
Frisk, for I will take nothing from Fairbank 
that belongs there ;” so saying, Sallie ran as 
fast as she could ; but the dog ran as fast as she 
did, though he panted for breath and lolled out 
his tongue. 

After running in this way for a whole mile, 


188 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Sallie slackened her pace and said, “ Poor 
fellow, it is too bad to make you run at this 
rate ; besides, Frisk, if anybody should see us 
they would know we were runaways.” She 
then seated herself under an apple-tree by the 
roadside, and dividing one of her rolls with 
Frisk, said, “ You shall have some breakfast, 
and afterwards you will go home.” 

The dog again turned those large, expressive 
eyes to Sallie’s face and licked her hand. 

“ This dog,” thought she, u has such a human 
look, that I am almost afraid of him. He really 
is the best friend, next to Jenny Brice, that 
poor Sallie has. It is hard for me to drive him 
away.” 

She then started up, flung the other roll as 
far as she could towards Fairbank, and pointed 
to have Frisk go and eat it. He went, picked 
it up, and brought it back to Sallie. 

“ Well, Frisk, you are determined to run 
away from your master, and I cannot help it. 
The wonder is, that both of us should forsake 
such a beautiful home. Queer, queer, isn’t it, 
Frisk, that you should like me, poor forlorn 
me ?” 


RUNAWAYS. 


189 


She now walked on with a countenance as 
bright and rosy as that May morning; the 
natural hilarity of her disposition excited by 
the pure morning air. The dew sparkled upon 
the fresh grass ; the birds sang their merry 
matin hymns, and a little brook by the way- 
side, where she quenched her thirst, went 
dancing along over the smooth pebbles to its 
own sweet music. Sallie herself could have 
danced with right good will, so happy was she 
to be free. from the dire restraint under which 
she had suffered during the last two days. 
True ; the sharp stones on the road would hurt 
her feet, but she was used to that, and did not 
mind it as she did sharp words. 

After walking a while in this cheerful mood, 
with Frisk trotting by her side, she said, “ I 
am sorry for Mr. Newton ; you are an ungrate- 
ful dog, Frisk, and I suppose I am an ungrate- 
ful girl. You ought to be ashamed of yourself 
for running away ; you can do nothing but eat 
and sleep. I can work, and therefore had no 
right to all those beautiful clothes while I did 
nothing. You are a dog, and he brought you 
up. You belong to him, but I do not; for 


190 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Mrs. Macer bad no right to tell me to do 
nothing. I felt like a thief when I put on those 
fine frocks. How could I help it, Frisk !” 

A miller, in a wagon partly loaded with bags 
of meal, now came along, and, seeing Sallie 
was barefoot, stopped his horses, and said, 
“ Jump in, and ride ; I suppose you are going 
to school ?” 

“ If you will take the dog, too,” said Sallie. 

“ Yes, yes ; jump in.” 

Sallie was about to tell the miller that she 
was not going to school, but he began to whistle 
and did nor hear her. He said no more, but 
sang and whistled as he drove along for two 
miles farther, and then stopped at a small 
brown school house by the roadside. 

Sallie and her companion jumped out of the 
wagon. 

“ Early to school this morning, my pretty 
Miss,” said the miller, as he gave the whip to 
his horses, and drove off, without giving her 
an opportunity to thank him. 

She now walked on briskly to escape meet- 
ing the children, who would soon be coming to 
school, but had not gone far before she met 


RUNAWAYS. 


191 


Harry Thomson, who was taking a. morning 
ride on his pony. She held down her head, 
hoping he would not know her ; but he stopped 
suddenly, just by her, and halloed, so that the 
woods rang with the echo. 

u Good morning ! Good morning ! You are 
taking a long walk, early. How came you so 
far from home ? Your feet are bleeding, Sallie. 
Get up behind me on Scipio, and I will give 
you a ride.” 

“ Ho, I thank you, Mr. Thomson , I am go- 
ing the other way.” 

“ I thought you had gone to Mr. Hewton’s 
to live. Father told me you had.” 

“ I am in a hurry ; good morning,” said 
Sallie, walking onward. 

“ You are too pretty to be cross, Sallie,” 
said Harry, turning around, and walking his 
horse by her side. “ Whose fat, ugly dog is 
that? Oh, I see, it is my old enemy; Mr. 
Hewton’s dog !” 

“ It is Mr. Hewton’s ; please take him back 
with you, and shut him inside the gate, at 
Fairbank. His name is Frisk.” 

“ Frisk, is it ! It must be an age since he 


192 


QUEER BONNETS. 


deserved that name. I should think now you 
live with Mr. Newton, he might give you some 
better clothes. Do you remember the day you 
wore that awful gunboat to church ? Though 
I laughed, Sallie, I was right-down mad at 
Mrs. Macer for letting you wear one of her 
abominable old-times bonnets.” 

“ I am in a hurry,” said Sallie, walking as 
fast as she could. 

“ I don’t like Mr. Newton, if he sends you on 
long errands without shoes and stockings, and 
I’ll take an opportunity to tell him so. He 
serves you even worse than Mrs. Macer ; and 
Jenny Brice told me her treatment was horrid. 
Why don’t Mr. Newton send one of his men- 
servants on his errands,” asked Harry. 

“ I am not going on an errand for Mr. New- 
ton. He is not unkind to me,” said Sallie, 
while her eyes filled with tears. 

“ Then why do you cry ? You are a gene- 
rous girl ; J enny Brice always insisted on it, 
that you were the most generous girl she ever 
knew ; but, Sallie, I did not know before that 
you were so mighty pretty. If you only dress- 
ed decently you would be one of the prettiest 


RUNAWAYS. 


193 


girls in Snowton. How nicely your hair 
curls !” 

u Please don’t make fun of me, Mr. Thom- 
son. I really am in a great hurry.” 

“ Oh ! you are afraid of being punished 
when you get home to Fairbank. I owe Mr. 
Newton a grudge, and if he punishes you, I 
will pay him; that I will. . Good morning. 
Come Frisk, Frisk, come home.” 

The dog barked and would not stir an inch. 
Fearing Harry would be angry with him, Sal- 
lie said : “ Never mind ; he will not go. 
Don’t be displeased with Mr. Newton ; he is 
one of the kindest and most generous men that 
ever lived.” 

“ Kind and generous ! You look like it, 
with your bare feet and miserable dress ! He’s 
a miser said Harry as he cantered off, leav- 
ing Sallie to lament over his unjust accusa- 
tions. 

Nothing could have pained her more than to 
have blame thrown where it was so entirely 
undeserved. Sallie was pained too by Harry’s 
ridicule, as she deemed it ; for she was not 
vain, and had seldom heard anything said of 
13 


QUEER BONNETS. 


194 


her personal appearance. Twice that morning 
she had been called pretty, and, no doubt, if 
there had been a looking-glass at hand, she 
would have appealed to it, to know what it 
meant. 

She now began to meet children going to the 
brown school-house. They stared at the strange 
girl, with the fat dog, as they passed, and one 
said, “ That’s a queer traveller ; did you see 
the bundle under her arm?” 

“ Yes,” was the reply ; “ I should think she 
had run away from the alms - house, if it 
warn’t for that fat dog. He hasn’t been fed on 
dry crusts and bare bones.” 

When she had walked out of their hearing, 
she said, “ Frisk, you look like a gentleman’s 
dog ; there’s no denying it. Poor Sallie looks 
like an alms-house girl. You ought to know 
better than to keep such company.” 

When Sallie arrived at the next village she 
stopped at a baker’s and bought some ginger- 
bread ; while eating it in the shop she inquired 
where the butcher’s shop was, for she wanted 
to buy a piece of meat for the dog. 

The baker said, ©£ could let her have a 


RUNAWAYS. 


195 


piece of meat, but he should ask her six cents 
for it. She handed him the dollar, and told 
him to take his pay for the gingerbread aud 
the meat. 

The baker stared at the barefooted girl, and 
then at the dollar : — u Your’e a mighty queer 
customer — two cents for your own dinner, and 
six for your dog, and a silver dollar to pay 
with, when all the clothes on your back are not 
worth three shillings. You must have stolen 
this dollar. 5 ’ 

“ bTo, indeed, I did not : it was given me by 
the lady I lived with last, when I left her ; it is 
my own money. Pray don’t say I did such a 
wicked, mean thing as to steal it; besides, it’s 
all the money I’ve got in the world.” 

“ Well, you do look like an honest girl, but 
there’s something most uncommon queer in 
your ways. The dog shall have the meat for 
six cents, and here’s your change.” 

“Please take two cents more, and give me 
a glass of water,” said Sallie. 

“ Pay for a glass of water !” exclaimed the 
baker; but he toolrthe pennies that Sallie laid 
on the counter. 


196 


QUEER BONNETS. 


While the dog was eating the very small 
piece of meat given him by the baker, the man 
called his wife into the shop, and consulted her 
whether he had not better send the girl to the 
alms-house, till he found out where she came 
from, and if she had stolen the money ; u for,” 
said he, “ she is so free with it, she could not 
have come honestly by it.” 

The baker’s wife came forward, and, settling 
her fat arms on the counter, looked in Sallie’s 
face, and said : — 

“ Girl, what’s your name, and where did you 
come from ?” 

“ They call me poor Sallie, and I came from 
Snowton.” 

u Where are you going ?” 

“ To Dermerville.” 

“ It’s a long walk ; who do you live with ?” 

u Nobody.” 

“Then you are a wagrant. Sam, you are 
right ; likely as not she stole the money.” 

u -No? indeed ; Mrs. Macer gave me the 
money.” 

u Mra. Macer ! a likely story. I knew all 


RUNAWAYS. 197 

about that woman. She hadn’t money to pay 
her own debts. I don’t believe you.” 

“ I have lived with her three years, and she 
never gave me any money before ; but when I 
was going away she gave me that silver dollar.” 

“ I suppose she thought that was paying you 
enough for three years’ work. Just like her. 
Husband, I believe she tells the truth. Look 
at her rigging ; its precisely such as I should 
know that Mrs. Macer would give her. Do 
you want a place f” 

“ Hot in this village ; I am going farther.” 

“Well, supposing we let her go. She’s a 
nice-spoken girl, though she’s a kind of a 
a wagrant, as one may say, because she’s out of 
a place. Better luck to you next time, when 
you get a new place.” 

Sal lie was glad to get away from the baker 
and his wife, with the change in her pocket. 
She hurried on till she came to the end of the 
village, where three roads met. 

The sign-boards had been defaced by some 
mischievous boys, and she could not make them 
out, so, at a venture, she took the middle road, 
which did not lead to Derraerville. 


198 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Soon she met an old man, and inquired if 
that was the right road to Dermerville. He 
was deaf as a post, but not being willing to own 
it, said “ Yes,” to the unheard question, and 
Sallie thanked him kindly, and went on 
cheerily, without farther inquiry. 

The sun was now sinking towards his nightly 
resting-place, and yet no village was in sight. 
She knew it was larger than Snowton, for she 
had frequently heard Mrs. Macer boast that it 
was a “ very fashionable place, with much bet- 
ter society than any in Snowton, or fifty miles 
around it.” 

The poor girl was weary, and so was Frisk. 
She sat down by the wayside to rest ; the dog 
stretched himself on the grass. 

“Poor Frisk! how you pant!” said Sallie, 
patting him tenderly ; “ I am afraid this jour- 
ney will kill you, and I shall have your death 
to answer for.” 

The white foam was upon the lips of the dog, 
and his long tongue hung out of his mouth. 

“ Oh dear, dear, dear ! He is going mad, 
I do believe. That would be dreadful ! I cer- 
tainly am the most unlucky creature on earth. 


RUNAWAYS. 


199 


To-day isn’t Friday. I knew though when the 
dog howled last night, something awful must 
happen !” 

There were scattered farm houses in the dis- 
tance, and lights began to glimmer from their 
windows ; but Sallie had been so frightened by 
the suspicions of the baker and his wife, that 
she did not dare to ask of the farmers a night’s 
lodging. Sallie leaned her hand against the 
fence, and in a few minutes was fast asleep. 
She was awakened by a loud clap of thunder. 
The night had set in dark and stormy. She 
could see nothing but those distant lights. 
Even Frisk she could no longer discern, but 
his hard breathing assured her that he was 
near. Again came a clap of thunder and vivid 
lightning. 

“ Oh I wish I had stayed at Fairbank! Frisk 
will die; and I have killed him. Oh dear, 
dear !” She untied the bundle, and putting the 
Bible in her pocket, spread a frock and apron 
over the dog. 

The lightning flashed incessantly. Sallie 
shut her eyes in vain to keep it out. She was 


200 


QUEER BONNETS. 


in an agony of terror as she sat resting her 
elbows on her knees, with her hands over her 
eyes. 

A vivid flash of lightning, accompanied at 
the same instant with tremendous thunder, 
brought her to her feet. A tree at no great 
distance had been shivered by the stroke. 
Poor houseless wanderer ! She even pitied 
herself. 

“ Poor Sallie ! Poor Sallie ! God is angry 
with her. 

She did not know that the lightning was 
a merciful dispensation of Providence to 
purify the atmosphere, — as necessary for man 
as the rain and the cheerful sunshine, or 
the gentle dew upon the flowers. The 
superstitious and ignorant listen to the thun- 
der as the voice of divine vengeance, while 
the enlightened Christian recognizes it as 
the sublime utterance of “ good will to 
man.” 

Sallie clasped the Bible to her bosom in her 
agony, with a superstitious feeling that there 
was protection in having it near, instead of 


RUNAWAYS. 


201 


realizing the divine truth which it contained, 
that God is a reconciled Father, through Jesus 
Christ. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


ME. NEWTON’S STOET. 

Me. Newton returned t^om town after two 
days’ absence. It was just sunset when he ar- 
rived. He walked hop*6 from the stage office 
in Snowton, and on the way, met Jenny Brice, 
who was going to Fairbank. 

Jenny had seen Harry Thomson, and been 
much troubled by the account he gave, of hav- 
ing seen Sallie, at a distance from home, bare- 
footed and forlorn. She prudently forbore 
mentioning this startling news, and walked on- 
ward with Mr. Newton. 

“ I have engaged a friend to take charge of 
Sallie,” said he. “ I do not call her a gover- 
ness, although she will be her teacher. There 
are many matters about which Sallie is igno- 


MR NEWTON S STORY. 


203 


rant, and Miss Wentworth, both by precept 
and example, will guide her gently into right 
conduct. I wish you, too, Jenny, to come and 
receive her instructions with Sallie, in English 
and French studies, and in music.” 

“ I should be but too happy to enjoy such a 
privilege,” replied Jenny. 

“ I wish to do as much good as possible to 
young people in my own way, for I am a lone- 
ly, disappointed man.” 

Jenny looked earnestly at Mr. Newton, with 
glistening tears in her eyes. 

Mr. Newton . — There is a soothing influence 
in your sweet sympathy ; I will tell you some 
of the events in my life, which have had an in- 
fluence on my present circumstances and char- 
acter. When I was just ready to enter Har- 
vard University, at the age of fifteen, I took a 
sudden fancy to go to sea. My mother was a 
widow. I ran away from her and went on a 
whaling- voyage before the mast. I was absent 
three years. When I returned my mother was 
dead. There was nothing for me but to con- 
tinue the course of life I had chosen for my- 
self. Through many trials and hardships, I 


204 


QUEER BONNETS. 


went on till I became the captain of a ship 
Then I married one of the loveliest of women. 
Soon after n^ marriage I went in command of 
a vessel to the East Indies, and was absent two 
years. On my return, I found a beautiful 
little girl had been added to my earthly trea- 
sures. I remained at home for two whole 
years ; but having no other way of supporting 
my family, I again went to sea. On that voy- 
age, I met with various disasters, and was at 
last shipwrecked on the coast of Africa, losing 
everything but the clothing on my back, and 
the miniature of my wife and child, which I 
wore about my neck. I will not pain your 
kind heart by relating the sufferings I endured, 
while a captive in Africa. I made my way at 
last to Alexandria, in Egypt, and from thence 
shipped as a common sailor to London. 

On my arrival in that city, the first place to 
which I directed my footsteps was the ETew 
England coffee-house, and the first enquiry I 
made was for a file of Boston newspapers. I 
ran my eye over four or five dozen papers with- 
out finding anything of special interest ; but at 
last I came to a paragraph under the head of 


MR. NEWTON S STORY. 


205 


Deaths — every word of which I can now re- 
peat : — u Died, in Boston, Nov. 13th, Sarah 
Sabrina, wife of the late Timothy Newton, who 
was wrecked in the ship Fanny, of Newbury- 
port, and an only daughter, six years of age. 
Mrs. Newton bore a long and painful illness, 
during which she suffered from extreme pover- 
ty, with truly Christian resignation, and, after 
a life of exemplary piety, has gone to her final 
reward.” 

I read these words over and over again, and 
then walked out of the coffee-house in a kind 
of stupor. The blow had stunned me to apathy ; 
though the words of that paragraph were burnt 
into my heart, I have never uttered them be- 
fore, from that day to this. 

There was no longer a home for m$ in the 
United States. I knew several merchants in 
London, one of whom was a bachelor uncle of 
mine, who had formerly lived in this country. 
He it was who owned Fairbank, and from 
whom I recently inherited a large fortune, on 
the condition that I should reside at Fairbank. 

Through these merchants I obtained the 
command of a fine ship sailing from London to 


QUEER, BONNETS. 


20(3 

the East Indies, and in that service continued 
for six years. The death of my uncle, and the 
clause in his will which made it necessary for 
me to reside here, induced me to return to my 
own country. I have looked up all the rela- 
tions I have left, and am aiding them with my 
means. One of them, Mrs. Anderson, had 
kept Frisk as a watch-dog during my long 
absence. Evelina Anderson, her daughter, 
strongly resembled my lost darling ; but, alas ! 
she has sadly disappointed me, and Miss 
Almira Cuffman, my cousin, does not add to 
the comfort of my house. I have taken a fancy 
to poor Sallie, and do earnestly hope she may 
not prove unworthy of my paternal regard. 

As Mr. Newton said these words he opened 
the gate, and they walked up the avenue. 
Jenny trembled with agitation as she advanced, 
and was not much surprised when they were 
met at the door by Miss Mira, who burst into 
her usual exclamation, — “ Massyful patience ! 
Timothy Newton, what kind of a hanimal do 
you think you be got in your house now ? That 
girl has locked the door of her room, and hasn’t 
been down stairs the whole live-long day.” 


MK. NEWTON’S STOBY. 


207 


“ She is afraid of you, I suppose. I will go 
directly and speak to her. Come Jenny, she 
will be glad to see you.” Thus saying, Mr. 
Newton, followed by Jenny, hastened to the 
door of Sal lie’s room. 

He knocked and called in vain. He en- 
treated Sallie to open to Jenny, who had come 
to stay all night with her ; at least, he would 
ask her grandmother to allow her to remain. 

Jenny by this time, in the midst of sobbing 
and tears, found words to say, “She is not 
there. Harry Thomson saw her this morning, 
three or four miles from the village, on the 
Dermerville turnpike.” 

As she said this, Bridget, the chambermaid, 
came forward with a key in her hand : — “ Can 
this be the key of Miss Sabor’s room?” she in- 
quired, hesitatingly. “I have just this minute 
found it under the carpet, on the stairs ; but I 
don’t know that it’s the key.” Mr. Newton 
unlocked the door, and entered, followed by 
Jenny and Miss Mira. The room was in con- 
fusion ; the drawers of the bureau, the dressing 
and the w T ork-table were open. The money 
was gone from the green-silk purse, the gold 


208 


QUEEli BONNETS. 


thimble, and several other articles from the 
workbox, and various articles from Sallie’s 
wardrobe. 

“ I knew, I knew no good was in that Sallie ! 
I told you so ! I told you so ! To think of your 
taking a thief into your house ! This time 
youv’e cotched a cream-a-tartar . What are 
you about with them old duds in her band- 
box V’ shrieked out Miss Mira. 

Mr. Newton was standing with one of the 
books from the bandbox in his hand, a copy of 
Young’s Night Thoughts, which he had given 
to his wife just before his marriage, and in 
which he had himself written her name. There 
it still was, u Sarah Sabrina Belknap, from 
T. N.” 

“ You are so charmed with that book, Timo- 
thy, that you quite forget what you are about. 
YY>u will have to send out after that runaway 
thief, and scour the country to find her.” 

u Do not call poor Sallie such hard names, 
Miss Almira ; I would venture my life that she 
is perfectly honest,” said Jenny. 

“ She had a right to all that was in this 
room. I gave everything to her unreservedly,” 


MR. NEWTON’S STORY. 


209 


said Mr. Newton. “ Here is an astonishing 
mystery. Poor Sallie may be my own Sab- 
rina.” 

“ Your child ! Why havn’t I seen her in 
her grave! The man is crazy as a loon ! Why 
Timothy, come to your senses, man !” exclaimed 
Miss Mira. 

“ You say you saw my darling in her grave. 
How can that be ?” demanded Mr. Newton, 
still examining the contents of the bandbox. 

“At least I’ve seen the splendiferous moner- 
ment of white marble, in the graveyard where 
you had it put up, with the names of the mo- 
ther and child.” 

“ But they were not buried there. Can there 
be any mistake? No, it is impossible! I 
must, however, find the unfortunate w'anderer, 
and learn how these things came into her pos- 
session.” 

Miss Mira . — She stole them : I’ll warrant 
she did ! 

Jenny . — Sally is as honest as the day. I 
never knew her to say a thing that was not 
exactly true. Everybody fn our school knew 
that. Harry Thomson will tell you so. He 
14 


210 


QUEER BONNETS. 


says Sallie begged him to bring back Frisk to 
Fairbank, but the dog wouldn’t come. 

Mr. Newton . — Frisk gone too ! I must see 
Harry Thomson immediately. 

The carnage was ready as soon as possible. 
Mr. Newton took Jenny home, and then drove 
rapidly t3 Mr. Thomson’s. Harry could give 
Mr. Newton no farther information, excepting 
that Sadie had a bundle under her arm. This 
last fact gave him not a little pain and anxiety. 
Alas ! could it be that she had been tempted 
to steal. 

The storm that had been threatening for some 
time, now came on furiously, and Mr. Newton 
was obliged to give up all further inquiry for 
the night. 


CHAPTER XXY. 


MRS. NAZY. 


Mr. Newton started early the next morning, 
determined to leave no means untried to ascer- 
tain what had become of the wanderer. As he 
had said, he remembered all the articles as 
having belonged to his wife. The pieces of 
China exactly matched his own set, and that he 
had himself purchased in Dresden. The books 
were familiar friends. 

While he was driving along, meditating upon 
this mysterious "matter, a carriage suddenly 
passed him, and he caught a glimpse of Eve- 
lina Anderson. He ordered the coachman to 
turn back. He found that young lady had been 
dismissed from school, and sent home with a 
woman-servant to take care of her. Poor Mr. 
Newton ! 


212 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Sadly he pursued his way on the Dermerville 
turnpike till he came to the brown school-house, 
and asked a little girl if she had seen yesterday 
morning a girl with a bundle under her arm 
going that way. 

“ Yes, sir ; a very poor-looking bare-footed 
girl, with a fat dog. The girl had a sorrowful 
sweet face, and pretty brown ringlets. She 
went that way.” 

“ The very same. I thank you,” -said Mr. 
Newton, throwing the child a piece of money. 

In the village where Sallie stopped, he made 
enquiry from house to house, and at last came 
to the baker’s. In answer to his questions, the 
baker said, 

“ I told my wife that girl was a runaway 
thief, when she paid six cents for the dog’s 
dinner, and two cents for a glass of water.” 

“ There was no proof of dishonesty in her 
generous care of the dog. It would have been 
to me evidence quite to the contrary.” Yet 
Mr. Newton’s anxiety increased, as the question 
came to him, “ How did she obtain the money ?” 

The baker could give no farther information ; 


MKS. NAZY. 


213 


and Mr. Newton’s inquiries in the village were 
quite unsatisfactory.” 

Entirely at a loss what to do next, Mr. New- 
ton at length decided to go to Dermerville, and 
learn from Mrs. Macer more particulars than he 
had been hitherto able to draw from her, with 
regard to Sallie. Mrs. Macer was just going to 
be married. He met her on the way to church. 
Even his haste and anxiety would not allow 
him to stop the wedding, party ; but he went to 
the Dermerville Hotel, and there learnt that 
Mrs. Macer gave a grand reception as Mrs. 
Nazy. 

Mrs. Nazy looked quite delighted at the 
sight of Mr. Newton, but when he commenced 
questioning her about Sallie, her countenance 
changed. She expected blame for the manner 
in which she had treated her. But Mr. Newton 
told her the whole story briefly, of his discovery 
of those articles, and her reply was : — 

“ They were sent with her from the Howard 
Orphan Asylum ; and I have always sup- 
posed they belonged to her mother, though I 
never mentioned the fact, for good reasons, to 
Sallie.” 


214 


QUEER BONNETS. 


This was the very fact he wished to learn, and 
with unceremonious haste, he bade Ifrs. !Nazy 
“ good day/’ 


CHAPTER. XXVI. 


AN UNPLEASANT KENCONTBE. 

When Evelina Anderson arrived at Fairbank, 
and alighted from the stage-coach that brought 
her, the first salutation that she received, was : — ■ 

“ What on ’artli have you come back for ?” 
Her reply was, u I have as good a right to be 
here as you have, Miss Mira.” 

Miss Mira . — You don’t know what an 
awful fuss we have had here. Our Timothy 
took it into his crack brain to adopt another 
child ; and who should he choose, to be sure, 
but that forlorn Sallie. What does he do, yper- 
foster ous man , but put her in the spar’ bed- 
room, with all the beautiful clothes and crin- 
kum-crankums, that money could buy, and 
a power of money besides. What does she do, 


216 


QUEER BONNETS. 


but run off with the money and lots of other 
valuables, too numerous to mention. 

Evelina . — Served him right, served him right. 
I’m glad of it. He had no business to put her 
here in my place. 

Miss Mira . — Six of one and half a dozen of 
’tother. He has got it into his crazy noddle 
now, that Sallie is his own child, because he 
found some queer old caps and odd things in a 
bandbox. He thinks they belonged to his wife. 

Evelina . — His own child ! She’s dead and 
buried ! Haven’t I heard him say so, hundreds 
of times. He ought to be sent to a Lunatic 
Asylum. 

All this time, Miss Mira and Evelina had 
been standing in the hall, where her luggage 
had been placed by the stage-driver. 

44 Bridget! Bridget!” called out Evelina, in 
an authoritative tone, 44 bring a light instantly, 
and have my baggage taken to my room.” 

Bridget . — Your room, Miss ! Why, you 
haven’t got no room. Miss Mira has taken the 
room you used to have, and keeps her old one 
for a store-room. 

Evelina . — Taken my room ! By what right, 


AN UNPLEASANT RENCONTRE. 217 

I should be glad to know. You had better 
clear out, as soon as possible. 

Miss Mira . — I shall do no such-a-thing. I 
am housekeeper and mistress here, and choose 
my own room. 

Evelina. — Then, I’ll choose mine. Bridget, 
have my luggage taken up to the room that 
poor Sallie has left ; though I can’t bear the 
thought of sleeping in an apartment she has 
contaminated. 

Bridget . — I don’t know what you mean,!ftpss, 
by that big word. I know she didn’t sleep in 
the bed. She liked her old way of sleeping on 
the floor better. 

Evelina . — That is a good joke, Bridget. Call 
the waiter to help you to carry up the trunks. 

Bridget obeyed, but when they came to the 
door of the bed-room, they found it locked. 

Mr. Newton had locked it and taken the key 
in his pocket. 

Evelina hunted about the house till she found 
another key that would open the door. Every- 
thin ^ there was in the confused condition in 
which it had been left. 

Evelina- ordered her trunks to be unpacked, 


218 


QUEER BONNETS. 


and her clothing placed in the bureau and 
wardrobe, saying, she had now quite a valuable 
addition, for Sallie was just her size, and she 
could wear all her dresses. 

“But what will Mr. Newton say?” asked 
Bridget. 

“ Say ! Why he will say he is glad to have 
some one wear them that will not steal.” 

“What shall I do with these old things?” 
said Bridget, as she came to the contents of the 
bandbox. “These^ are what Sallie brought 
with her.” 

“ Burn them up, Bridget ; I won’t have any 
of her traps about.” 

Evelina said this while arranging her bureau, 
without noticing what the things were, and 
supposed them to be only some scattered arti- 
cles of poor Sallie’s, which she had worn before 
coming to Fairbank. So Bridget packed them 
up, and carried off the bandbox to her own 
attic apartment. “ What shall I do* with this 
letter ?” said Evelina to herself, as in the course 
of unpacking, she came to the letter to Mr. 
Newton, from the Principal of the school from 
which she had been dismissed. 


AN UNPLEASANT RENCONTRE. 219 

“ I will read it at any rate,” said she, break- 
ing the seal. It was as follows : — 

“ Timothy Newton, Esq. — 

“ Dear Sir, — I am exceedingly sorry to 
be under the painful necessity of sending Miss 
Anderson home, and requesting that she may 
not return to my care. 

“ She is so violent and overbearing in her 
character, and so determined not to obey the 
rules of the school, that it is impossible for me 
to continue her instruction. Besides she is sel- 
fish and mean-spirited to such a degree as to 
render her a disagreeable and unsuitable com- 
panion and associate for my other pupils. 

“ I am grieved, sir, to be compelled to wound 
your generous feelings by thus candidly declar- 
ing the cause of Miss Anderson’s expulsion. 

“ Hoping you will appreciate my motives, 
and pardon my sincerity, I remain, 

“ Kespectfully yours, 

“James Morgan.” 

Evelina twisted up the letter, and held it in 
one of the tall candles which stood on the dress- 


220 


queer bonnets. 


ing-table, until it was in a blaze, and then threw 
it out of the window. 

The tea-bell rang. So wrathful were both 
parties, that they sat down to table, Miss Mira 
and Miss Evelina, without speaking a word to 
each other, and during the meal, they main- 
tained a profound silence. 

But, oh ! the frowns and the sneers that they 
sent across to each other, if they had been bul- 
lets, those angry ladies would both have been 
riddled through and through like a target. 


CHAPTEE XXVII. 

THE HOWARD ORPHAN ASYLUM. 

When Mr. Newton, after a long journey, 
reached the Howard Orphan Asylum, he was 
so excited and so agitated, that it was some time 
before he could make the inquiries which would 
prove whether Sallie was indeed his own 
daughter. 

Providentially, the same Matron had been at 
the Institution for ten years past. 

She referred at once to the books. 

After the date, an entry was made of “ Sallie 
Sabor, six years old, placed here by Mrs. 
Anderson. Her father, a sea captain, was lost 
at sea, some years since. Her mother died 
after a long illness, and nothing was left for her 
support. No relatives who can maintain her. 
All that remained of her mother’s furniture was 


222 


QUEER BONNETS. 


sold to pay rent and funeral expenses. A few 
articles of female clothing and some pieces of 
china and glass were brought with the child.” 

Mr. Newton was speechless with emotion, 
for a few minutes. At length he said, “And 
was this child placed with a dressmaker ?” 

“I will see,” replied the matron, “turning 
over the leaves of the large record book. 

“ Yes,” here it is. “ Sally Sabor, aged ten, 
bound out, till eighteen, to Mrs. Macer. She 
is to be well clothed and fed, and to be sent to 
school during the winter, for four years.” 

“ Do you look after the interests of the poor 
orphans who are thus bound out ?” enquired 
Mr. Newton, with some severity in his tone of 
voice, though his manner was cool and com- 
posed. 

“ The committee of ladies are obliged to do 
so, when the orphans are not at a distance. But 
as they usually prefer sending them into the 
country, it is not in their power,” was the reply. 

“And where did this Mrs. Anderson be- 
long ?” eagerly inquired Mr. Newton. 

“ In this city ; she still resides here in Par- 
sons street ; I saw her only last week.” 


THE HOWARD ORPHAN ASYLUM. 


223 


“ The very same !” exclaimed Mr. Newton ; 
“ it was Evelina’s mother.” 

Mr. Newton handed the Matron ten dollars, 
to be distributed among the children, as he 
said, “ in gingerbread and left without men- 
tioning the particular reason he had for mak- 
ing inquiries about Sallie Sabor. 

To Parsons street he hastened to find Mrs. 
Anderson. She kept a small shop, and was 
standing behind the counter as he went in. 

Without preface or apology, he said, <c What 
was the true name of the child that you placed 
in the Howard Orphan Asylum seven years’ 
ago ?” 

She colored, hesitated, and hemmed and 
coughed. 

“ Speak out, and tell the whole truth,” ex- 
claimed Mr. Newton impatiently. “ I know 
the facts already.” 

“ It was your own Sabrina. I placed her 
there under the name of Sallie Sabor, to save 
appearances,” said Mrs. Anderson, trembling. 

“Appearances ! to save appearances ! But 
how did it happen to be announced in the 
papers that my child was dead ?” 


QUEER BONNETS. 


224 

“ It was a mistake in the print ; instead of 
‘ leaving an only daughter,’ as it ought to have 
been, it was, by mistake, 4 and an only daugh- 
ter.’ ” 

“ Why did you not have it corrected in the 
next paper ?” 

“ Because I thought her parents were both 
dead and gone, and the mistake would do no 
harm to anybody.” 

“And when I adopted your child, how did it 
happen that you never told me of the wonder- 
ful fact that my own was still living ?” 

“ I did not know that she was living ; for I 
have lost sight of her for years.” 

“How could you be so cruel as to lose sight 
of the poor desolate orphan ? But it is useless 
to reproach you. I leave you to your own con- 
science, if you have any remaining that is not 
seared with a hot iron.” 

Mr. Hewton immediately went to the office 
of the newspaper which had contained the in- 
telligence; and on looking over a file of old 
papers, found the paragraph, and purchased the 
paper, merely saying, “ A mistake of a single 
word has caused great sorrow’ and trouble for 


THE HOWARD ORPHAN ASYLUM. 


225 


years. You ought to be more careful in cor- 
recting the proofs.” 

He then ordered a large number of hand- 
bills to be printed, as follows : — 

“ Information Wanted, 

Of a girl about thirteen years of age, who left 
the village of Snowton on Thursday of last 
week, and was last seen on the turnpike to Der- 
merville. Tall of her age, and slender ; small 
hands and feet ; dark eyes ; chestnut hair, curl- 
ing in ringlets ; and a brunette complexion. 
She was poorly dressed, and had a dog with 
her, who answers to the name of Frisk. One 
hundred dollars will be paid for any direct 
information which may prove satisfactory. 
Timothy Hewton, Fairbank, Sriovrton.” 

This same advertisement was inserted in 
several of the city papers, besides being posted 
up all the way from Dermerville to Snowton. 

Without again seeing Mrs. Anderson, Mr. 
Hewton left the city, and travelled rapidly 
home to Fairbank. 

15 


CHAPTEE XXVII. 


NEW FRIENDS. 

It was a fearful night for poor Sal lie to be 
e'xposed to the pelting of the pitiless storm. 
The lightning, at length, only flashed in the 
distance, and the roar of the thunder gradually- 
died away ; but the rain continued to pour down 
in torrents. 

“ But what is that !” exclaimed Sallie with 
newly excited alarm, as a bright light appeared 
in the murky darkness. Nearer and nearer 
came the unsteady light, waving to and fro. 
As it approached, she discerned a dark figure 
accompanying it. Great was her relief to find 
that, instead of the supernatural light which her 
superstitious fears had suggested, it was a man 
with a lantern. He turned the light full upon 


NEW FRIENDS. 227 

Sallie, who had started up at his approach, and 
exclaimed : — 

u Who are you ! How came you here, girl, 
in this tremendous gust?” 

“ I have lost my way,” said Sallie, bursting 
into tears ; a great relief, after the excitement 
of fear and despair, she had been suffering for 
hours. 

44 And what have you there ?” he inquired, 
pointing to the heap of thoroughly drenched 
clothing by Sallie’s side. 

44 It is a dear, good dog, that I covered over 
because he was lame and tired.” 

44 Well, come with me to my house yonder. 
This is an awful night. My wife will be 
anxious enough about me.” 

Sallie took the wet covering from the dog, 
and said, 44 Come Frisk, poor fellow ! Come 
along.” But Frisk whined, and would not 
stand on his feet. 

Sallie sat down by him on the ground, and 
patted him, saying, 44 1 won’t leave you ; no, 
indeed, I won’t. Good fellow ; you are so lame 
you can’t walk.” 


228 


QUEER BONNETS. 


The dog wagged his tail, and licked her 
hand. 

“ Come, girl, you take the lantern, and I’ll 
carry the dog,” said the man, touched by 
Sallie’s kindness to the suffering animal. 

The lantern, which just before had seemed a 
strange unearthly light, now rejoiced her like 
the countenance of a friend, and gladly was she 
the bearer of it, while the stout young farmer 
gently carried the dog to the cottage, where a 
candle had been placed in the window to guide 
his homeward steps. 

No sooner did the small gate in front turn 
on its hinges than the cottage door was opened, 
and a pleasant voice gave a warm welcome : — 
“Joseph, dear, is it you at last? I have been 
very uneasy about you. I am so glad you are 
safe ; it has been a dreadful night.” 

“ Yes, Martha, here I am ; safe, thank God ! 
and I have brought in some wanderers who 
were ready to perish ; the girl would not leave 
her dog, and so I have brought him in my 
arms. He’s a very fat dog,” said the farmer, 
as he laid Frisk by the cheerful tire. 

“Just like you, Joseph; always kind and 


NEW FRIENDS. 


229 


thoughtful. Come in,” she continued to Sallie, 
who stood dripping with rain, and ashamed to 
enter. “ Come in, and let me shut the door, 
for here is my little Ned, with the rain blowing 
in his face.” 

The little fellow, about four years old, now 
ran to his father, and gave him half a dozen 
hearty kisses. 

“ There, that will do, boy ; I must see what 
ails the dog, while your mother gets some dry 
clothing for the stranger.” 

The farmer, on examining Frisk’s feet, found 
a large thorn in one of them, and immediately 
drew it out. 

“ Nice dog ; now, papa has been so good to 
him, he will get well. May I ’ e him' some 
supper.” 

a Yes, yes ; you may give him his supper, 
boy.” 

Martha meanwhile had taken Sallie to her 
bed-room, and made her put on dry clothing. 
Then she returned to the easy, pleasant room, 
where the clean, well filled table had been 
spread for two hours waiting for the farmer’s 
return. 


230 


QUEER BONNETS. 


It was easy to add the cup, saucer, and plate 
for Sallie, and then they sat down to supper. 
Joseph, with the little boy standing by his 
side, fervently asked a blessing. 

The bread and butter were of Martha’s own 
making ; the bees had laid up the honey in 
Joseph’s garden; the cold chicken was from 
their poultry-yard ; delicious cream added a 
relish to the preserved pears, on which Martha 
particularly prided herself. Much did she 
enjoy the keen appetites of the night wander- 
ers, as she filled their plates, and replenished 
/ them. 

Sallie had never before partaken of so re- 
lishing a meal. These simple kind-hearted 
people asked no questions ; it was enough that 
she was “ hungry,” and they fed her. She was 
a “ stranger ” and they “ took her in.” 

When supper was over, Martha remarked, 
that they must be very tired ; and handed 
Joseph the large family Bible. lie read the 
8th chapter of Luke — Christ stilling the Tem- 
pest; then uttered a prayer, filled with earnest 
thanksgiving for preservation that night, and 
concluded with the Lord’s Prayer. 


NEW FRIENDS. 


231 


Sallie was shown to a plain comfortable bed- 
room, where were neither carpet nor bed-cur- 
tains. The bed was of straw ; yet never was 
sleep more sweet or welcome to the weary girl. 
She awoke, refreshed and cheerful, early in the 
morning. She heard the voices of merry chil- 
dren, and their pattering little feet, on the 
stairs near the door. Her dismal-looking cloth- 
ing of the night before, had been carefully 
dried and ironed ; and some kind, careful hand 
had placed* it beside her bed. 

When Sallie opened the door of her room, 
little Ned, with two younger children, were 
playing with Frisk. 

“ The dog is such a good, kind fellow, he lets 
us fool him,” said little Ned. “ I want father 
to buy him. Please, won’t you sell him ?” 

u I cannot ; he is not mine,” said Sallie. 

Again Sallie joined in the family devotions. 
When Joseph read the 25th Psalm, she took 
out the small, well-worn Bible, and looked out 
the ° acred words with an interest she had never 
before felt. 

In addition to the morning prayer, which 
Joseph read, he added an extempore petition 


232 


QUEER BON’ CTS. 


for the young stranger who had “ lost her way,” 
that she might be “ brought back safely to her 
home and friends, and guided into the straight 
and narrow way which leadeth to life eternal.” 

The simple piety of this family went to the 
heart of the superstitious girl. It was so true, 
so practical, so kind. The dawning light of 
the Sun of Righteousness arose in her soul. 

When the hearty, wholesome breakfast was 
over, Sallie said, “ You have asked me no 
questions, and yet you must feel ’some curi 
osity about a straggler like me. I was going to 
Dermerville to see Mrs. Macer, and ask her 
some important questions. I must have taken 
the wrong road, where three roads meet.” 

“Very likely you did,” replied the farmer. 
“I know Mrs. Macer; she owes me money, 
and has for a long time.” 

Sallie blushed as though she were herself 
the tardy debtor. 

“ She may be a relation of yours,” he con- 
tinued. u We are not accountable for the con- 
duct of all our relations.” 

“ She is no relation of mine, and I don’t 
know that I have a relation in the world. If 


NEW FRIENDS. 


233 


you wish to know more about ‘ poor Sallie,’ as 
I am called, I will tell you my story.” 

“ We do indeed !” exclaimed Martha, ea^er- 

J o 

ly ; for her womanly curiosity was excited to a 
high pitch. 

Sallie briefly, but truly related the leading 
facts of her life to the time of her leaving Fair- 
bank, and the journey which brought her to the 
cottage. 

The habit of truth-telling was so confirmed 
with Sallie, that whatever she said gained im- 
mediate confidence ; it was so clear and straight- 
forward. 

“ Now, let me advise you what to do,” the 
farmer said. “ Go back to Mr. Newton. I 
will take you there to-morrow in my carry-all. 
Wife, will you go with us ? You can take all 
the children.” 

“ Go back to Mr. Newton and live there !” 

“Yes, Sallie; so Providence has appointed, 
I have no doubt you were faithful and honest 
in the condition you were in, and God will give 
you grace to fill a higher station, honorably 
and usefully. You are under the care of a 
Heavenly Father who knows what is best for 


234 : QUEER BONNETS. 

you; and this running away will not, in the 
end, better your condition. Every station has 
its allotted trials.” 

“ But still,” urged Sallie, “ I wish to make 
the inquiry about my mother, of Mrs. Macer.” 

“You can do that through your excellent 
friend Mr. Newton, if he will receive you after 
your seeming ingratitude.” 

“ Oh ! I have been careless, thoughtless, wil- 
ful, but not ungrateful. My gratitude to Mr. 
Newton weighs like a load here,” said Sallie, 
laying her hand on her heart. 

“ Yes ; I understand it, like a debt, till you 
can do something for him in return. You do 
not wish to seem to him dishonest ; yet Frisk 
is a dog that he values, and he may consider 
you a thief for taking him away.” 

“Horrible! horrible! I will go as soon as 
possible. Here, Frisk, you must go home to 
your master, and so must poor Sallie.” 

“It is astonishing how sensible and just my 
Joseph is,” said the wife. “ He is, you see, a 
man of good education for a farmer, and then 
he does so closely follow the blessed Bible for 
his guide! Here, Sallie, you can wash up the 


NEW FRIENDS. 


235 


breakfast things. We shall have a great deal 
to do to-day, so that we can leave home to- 
morrow. Joseph has worked very hard lately, 
and a little pleasure excursion will do him 
good.” 

Gladly did Sallie assist her kind hostess, and 
notwithstanding her impatience to return to 
Fairbank with Frisk, she passed the day plea- 
santly and profitably 


CHAPTEK XXYIII. 


A WELCOME AT CHERRICOT. 

The next morning, at an early hour, “ the 
carryall 55 was at the door. A merry company 
were they. The children, themselves, were not 
more delighted with a holiday than the cheerful 
farmer and his tidy wife. Sallie’s naturally 
lively disposition showed itself in spite of the 
difficulties and troubles, in which she said she 
was “ like a poor fly in a cobweb . 55 

“Oh, you will escape and spread your wings 
in good time , 55 said Martha, cheerily, as they 
reached Fairbank. Frisk was so delighted to 
be home again, that he jumped out, as they 
slowly drove up the avenue, and ran barking 
towards the house. 


A WELCOME AT CHERRICOT. 237 

This noise brought both Miss Mira and Eve- 
lina out upon the piazza. They had not yet 
made up their quarrel, and were not on speak- 
ing terms. But when they saw Frisk, and then 
the farmer driving up the avenue, Miss Mira 
exclaimed, “ Can it be that they are bringing 
back the runaway thief, with her stolen goods ?” 

u Yes, yes ; it must be. I see the creature 
herself,” said Evelina. 

Joseph inquired at the door for Mr. Newton. 

“ He isn’t at home,’’ was Miss Mira’s reply, 
in a very sharp tone. 

“ I am sorry for that ; I have brought back 
a young friend of his,” said the farmer. 

“ No friend of his’n, but a miserble gal, who 
ran off with his money and other walables. I 
hope she has come to bring them back ; but if 
she has I shan’t let her come into this house. 
I will take the stolen goods, and keep them till 
our Timothy comes home.” 

She had nothing with her but a bundle of 
old clothes,” said Martha. 

“ And the change for a dollar that Mrs. 
Macer gave me when I left her,” said Sallic, 
her moral courage rising at this unjust accusa- 


238 


QUEER BONNETS. 


tion. “ Frisk would go with me, and I couldn’t 
help it. Have him shut up in his kennel, and 
then I shall have nothing that belongs here.” 

“ This is a singular case !” exclaimed Joseph. 
“ I do believe you are honest, but circum- 
stances are strongly against you. Where will 
you go now?” 

Sallie was puzzled for a moment, and then 
said, “ To Cherricot — to Cherricot !” 

“ Where is that?” 

“ Good Mrs. Brice’s, down in the village.” 

“Your good Mrs. Brice will not take you 
into her house, for Jenny was here, and knows 
all about your stealing the money and the gold 
thimble, and lots of other things,” said Evelina 
spitefully. 

“Jenny knows me too well to believe such 
dreadful things of me. Please drive there as 
quickly as possible ; they are my true friends, 
and will not desert me even now,” replied 
Sallie. 

The farmer was staggered by these startling 
accusations ; but he did as he was requested, 
and turned the horse’s head towards the village, 
and drove silently away. Frisk followed, in 


A WELCOME AT CHERRICOT 23& 

spite of the calls and commands from Miss 
Mira, Evelina, and three or four servants, who 
had been drawn to the spot by curiosity. 
When they reached the great gate Sallie said, 
c< Please drive Frisk back, and shut him in.” 

The dog, as if aware of the intention, ran on 
ahead, and would not be induced to return. 

Martha looked sorrowful and disappointed ; 
the children were tired, and wanted to get out, 
and, as if sympathizing with their elders, 
began to cry. 

Sallie’s countenance betrayed indignation, 
but no guilt. 

They stopped at Cherricot. Jenny, who had 
seen Frisk running before the vehicle, came 
down to the gate, and, when Sallie jumped out, 
threw her arms round the neck of the poor 
girl, and kissed her again and again. 

“ Come in Sallie, and your friends too,” said 
Jenny. u Let me take out some of the children. 
You can fasten your horse to this post, sir. Ob, 
how glad grandmother will be to see you,” she 
continued. “ Come, little boy, let me lead 
you.” 

“ These are indeed my friends, Jenny ; and 


240 


QUEER BONNETS. 


how shall I ever repay you for giving them a 
hearty welcome ?” 

Martha’s face brightened ; the children 
ceased crying; Joseph’s confidence in Sallie 
returned. 

Mrs. Brice had been looking out of the win- 
dow ; and when the whole group entered, the 
chairs were all ready for them to be seated. 

Sallie was embarrassed, for she had, as yet, 
heard only the Christian names of her new 
acquaintances. Mrs. Brice took her kindly by 
the hand, and said, u What may I call your 
friends ?” 

“Joseph Plemson and his wife,” said the 
farmer. u We have brought back a wanderer, 
and, if she tells the truth, she is very much to 
be pitied.” 

“Sit down, Mr. Plemson ; Mrs. Plemson lay 
off your bonnet. Jenny, take Sallie and the 
children in the garden.” 

Jennie obeyed, but turned back after the 
others had stepped outside, and said, “ Grand- 
ma, remember, Sallie always tells the truth. 
She is honesty itself.” 

Joseph Plemson then told how he had found 


A WELCOME AT CHERRICOT. 


241 


Sallie by the wayside, and what had since hap- 
pened. The small bundle was shown by Mar- 
tha, in proof that she had nothing else with 
her. u The only things in her pocket were a 
small Bible, and some change less than a dol- 
lar. I took what was there when I dried the 
poor child’s dress, and put back all the next 
morning,” said Martha. 

“ Circumstances are indeed against her at 
Fairbank; yet I will remember what Jenny 
says, and believe her innocent till she is 
proven to be guilty,” said Mrs. Brice. “ Mr. 
Plemson, take your horse into the yard next 
door, and Mr. Doole, our neighbour, will give 
him some feed. You shall have an early din- 
ner, as you wish to return home in good season 
Saturday night. Sallie shall stay with me 
until Mr. ISTewton returns. He has gone to 
seek her, and has the most earnest desire to 
find her guiltless.” 

The children came in quite happy again, 
their hands full of flowers from Jenny’s garden. 

“ Jenny’s gingerbread might be more accep- 
table to the children just now than flowers. 

16 


242 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Sallie too, is partial to your gingerbread,” said 
the old lady. 

“ They can have both, grandma,” said Jenny. 

“ Oh, mother, what a nice day we aie hav- 
ing,” said little Ned. 

“ Nice day ; pretty flowers echoed his little 
sister ; and the youngest little thing made out 
to say, “ Good ! pretty, pretty !” And the 
mother’s cheerful face was again bright with 
smiles. Jenny, with Sallie’s assistance, broiled 
chickens and baked a custard, and prepared a 
very refreshing dinner. 

The dinner was over, and Joseph Plemson 
at the gate with the carryall. Martha took ar 
affectionate leave of Sallie, who had completely 
won her heart. Joseph said, taking her by the 
hand, “ Trust in God, and he will make your 
innocence appear as plain as the noon-day. 
Farewell.” Sallie could not speak. Her gra- 
titude was too intense for words. She slipped 
a half-dollar into little Ned’s hand, as she lifted 
him in to his mother ; as they drove off she 
kept her tearful eyes upon them till they were 
out of sight. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


A NEW ARRIVAL. 

Mrs. Brice did not go to church on Sunday ; 
she was too lame even to walk so far. Sallie 
read the Bible and other good books aloud to 
her, while Jenny went to church alone; for, 
under the circumstances, Mrs. Brice did not 
think it advisable for Sallie to go out. She 
carefully avoided any allusion to the past dur- 
ing the day, and earnestly observed the de- 
portment and countenance of the accused girl. 
She was too good a judge of human nature not 
to be convinced that the accusations were false, 
and her kind heart glowed with pleasure when 
she thought of the triumph of innocence over 
malice. 

The uncommon interest Sallie showed in 
reading the old Bible attracted Mrs. Brice’s 


24 4 


QUEER BONNETS. 


attention, and gratified the good lady ex- 
ceedingly. 

When Jenny returned from church, Harry 
Thomson was with her. They stopped at the 
gate. 

“I must just go in and speak to poor Sallie,” 
said he. “I am one of her best friends. I 
don’t believe a word of what that mean Evelina 
Anderson whispered to me on the church 
steps.” “ I do not know that grandma’ would 
like to have you come in to day,” hesitatingly 
answered Jenny, holding the gate half open. 

Harry pushed by and walked up to the door, 
“ It is right to do good on Sunday, and Sallie 
needs warm friends just now.” 

“So she does, Harry, you are right,” respond- 
ed Jenny, warmly. 

“ Just call Sallie to the door. I see her there, 
reading to your grandmother.” 

The window was open, and Sallie heard 
Harry’s words. She ceased reading, and Mrs. 
Brice said, “ put aside your book, and go speak 
to the lad.” 

Harry shook her cordially by the hand, say- 
ing, “ keep up good courage ; all will come out 


A WELCOME AT CHEKRICOT. 


245 


right one of these days. It’s a great thing for 
a body always to tell the truth, as you have 
done. We used to say at school, when any- 
thing was doubted that the other boys or girls 
told, c It must be true, if poor Sallie, says so ; 
we’ll ask her? ” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Thomson,” replied she, 
blushing deeply. 

u Well, we will not call you 4 poor Sallie ’ any 
longer, but ‘pretty Sallie;’ good bye. You 
will look down on Evelina Anderson before long, 
with scorn and contempt. Good bye.” 

Jenny had been closely questioned by Harry 
Thomson, on the way from church, but she had 
only told him that Sallie was unhappy at Fair- 
• bank, and had left the place without informing 
Mr. Newton, and that since her departure, she 
had been accused of dishonesty. Evelina had 
whispered all this in his ear, with many addi- 
tions of her own. 

In Mr. Newton’s pew at church, was a young 
lady, simply but elegantly dressed in deep 
mourning, whose devout manner and pleasing 
countenance formed a striking contrast with the 
levity of Evelina Anderson, and the sour visage 


246 


(^UEKiS BONNETS. 


of Miss Mira. This young lady was no other 
than Miss Wentworth, who arrived on Saturday 
evening, and was most ungraciously received 
by Miss Mira. That singular personage, when 
she learnt who Miss Wentworth was, and why 
she came, advised her to go to “ the tavern,” 
in the village. Miss Wentworth told her that 
would be very disagreeable and unsuitable, for 
the elderly gentleman who accompanied her to 
Fairbank had gone some miles beyond, after 
leaving her at Fairbank, and she would be en- 
tirely without protection at the tavern. 

“ There’s no sort nor kind of danger there,” 
retorted Miss Mira, “ and Timothy won’t mind 
paying for two or three nights’ lodgings, since 
you’ve come on a Tom-fool arrant ; the gal you 
was a going to teach, has turned thief and run 
away.” 

Great was the surprise and consternation of 
Miss Wentworth. Her luggage had been left 
on the piazza, and there was she, late on Satur- 
day evening, refused admittance to the house 
to which she had been most earnestly entreated 
to come, by its owner. After a few moments’ 
hesitation, she asked for a man-servant. The 


A INIiW AKR1VAB, 


247 


waiter came, and seeing a lady, bowed with 
much civility. 

“ Will you take my luggage to my room ? 
Mr. Newton, I am sorry to find, is not at home,” 
said Miss Wentworth. 

“Did you ever see the beat of that,” ex- 
claimed Miss Mira, aside, to Evelina. “Here’s 
a presumptuous one, If ever any body took 
on such hoity-toity airs before, I’m mistaken.” 

“ Why don’t you tell Brown to let her trunks 
stay where they are?” whispered Evelina. 

“ Because, I am afraid our Timothy would be 
so powerful angry, that he would blow us up 
sky-high for it.” 

Miss Wentworth followed the waiter, who 
summoned Bridget, on the way, to show the 
lady’s room. Bridget led them up to an attic 
chamber next her own, and the waiter having 
placed the luggage safely there, bowed respect- 
fully, and closed the door on Miss Wentworth. 

“ I tell you what, Bridget,” said he, as they 
went down stairs, “that’s a first-rate lady. You 
made a real blunder when you showed her up 
here, to this sky-parlor.” 

“ I know better nor you. She’s the teacher- 


248 


QUEEK BONNETS. 


woman wot was going to teacli poor Sallie, if 
she hadn’t made herself scarce in these parts.” 

“ She’s a thousand times more of a lady, I 
can see, than any who’ve been yet in this ’ere 
house. I’ve lived long enough among gentle- 
folks, to know ’em at first sight,” said Brown. 

Very little sleep had Miss Wentworth that 
night in her elevated lodgings. It was the first 
time she had left her own refined home, to go 
among strangers ; but though desolate and for- 
lorn, her courage did not fail, for her trust was 
in the Father of the fatherless. 

She walked down to breakfast the next morn- 
ing, and took her seat at table with dignified 
assurance, and Miss Mira and Evelina, were so 
much astonished and awed by her complete 
self-possession, as to keep silence and be civil. 

She went to church by herself, and at the 
door asked the sexton to show her to Mr. New- 
ton’s pew. 

In the afternoon she was again at church. 
As she came out after service, in the vestibule 
she saw the sweet face of Jenny Brice turned 
towards her, with an earnest, wishful expres- 


sion. 


A NEW ARRIVAL. 


249 


“ Did you wish to speak to me?” enquired 
Miss Wentworth, in a voice that would com- 
mand attention anywhere — so wonderfully re- 
fined and delicate was it, and at the same time 
so decided and clear. 

Jenny sprang to her side, and placed her 
hand within the small slender hand of Miss 
Wentworth, saying, “I would like to speak 
with you, Miss Wentworth, when we are quite 
out of church.” 

Miss Wentworth grasped the hand thus con- 
fidingly laid within hers, and they walked for 
a while in silence, — it was broken at length by 
Jenny. 

“ You came to Fairbank, I believe, to be the 
friend of Sallie Sabor.” 

u I did ; but I hear a shocking account of 
her.” 

Jenny . — Do not think harshly of poor Sallie. 
I am sure she is not guilty of the crime of 
which they accuse her — they are bitter ene- 
mies. Would it be too much trouble for you 
to come to Cherricot and see her yourself? 
Grandma’ would be pleased to see you, al- 
though it is Sunday. 


250 


QUEEK BONNETS. 


Miss Wentworth . — Certainly not. I am 
much obliged to you for the kind invitation. 
They did not tell me at Fairbank that my ex- 
pected pupil was in the village. 

Jenny. — Oh, Miss Wentworth, Sallie needs 
friends so much at this time, I do hope you 
have come to join us against her cruel persecu- 
tors. 

Miss Wentworth. — You speak warmly. 
What may I call you, my little friend ? 

Jenny . — Jenny Brice, if you please. I love 
Sallie dearly. She is so generous and noble- 
hearted ; and I am sure you will love her too ; 
when you know her as well as I do. 

Miss Wentworth . — She must be very happy 
in such a warm friend as you are. Truly your 
unbounded confidence interests me in her 
favor. 

Jenny . — Does it ! Oh, I’m so glad — so glad. 
They walked hand in hand till they came to 
Cherricot. Jenny stepped in without giving 
warning that she was bringing a stranger. 
Sallie sat on a low stool reading, from her 
priceless little Bible, the history of Joseph, 
while Mrs. Brice commented upon the wonder- 


A NEW ARRIVAL. 


251 


ful leadings of Providence, as shown in that 
eloquent and unequalled story. 

“ Grandma,” said Jenny, “ I have induced 
Miss Wentworth to come home with me from 
church. Sallie, this is the young lady who has 
come to Fairbank to be your friend.” 

Sallie, with her lively, impulsive tempera- 
ment, had a quick perception of character. 
At a glance, she saw Miss Wentworth was a 
lady in whom she could confide, and, springing 
to her feet, she made a salutation which might 
not have been called graceful by the dancing- 
master ; but it was more effective, for the in- 
genuousness and naturalness quite charmed 
the polished, well-bred young lady. 

u You are quite welcome to Cherricot, Miss 
Wentworth. Let Sallie relieve you of bonnet 
and mantilla,” said Mrs. Brice. 

Miss Wentworth could have thrown her arms 
around the neck of the nice old lady, and 
kissed her cheek fervently. She contented 
herself, however, with a cordial grasp of the 
hand, and then willingly yielded the bonnet 
and mantilla to the delighted Jenny. 

Tea was soon ready. Sallie refused at first 


252 


QUEER BONNETS. 


to come to the table, saying to Mrs. Brice that 
it was not proper for her to sit down with such 
a beautiful lady, till, at least, she was proved to 
be an honest girl. 

Mrs. Brice, who had no doubt of her honesty, 
had not much more doubt of the social position 
she was entitled to, and insisted that she should 
be seated by Miss Wentworth. 

In the conversation at table, Mrs. Brice took 
the lead, at the same time drawing out Miss 
Wentworth. The visit was both pleasant and 
profitable ; and heartily sorry was the stranger 
visitor when the approach of night warned her 
that she must not prolong it. 

Before she left, Mrs. Brice recommended her 
staying at Fairbank till Mr. Newton’s return, 
at the same time urging her to pass as much 
time as possible at Cherricot. 

Sweet and soothing to her wounded feelings 
was this unexpected kindness. Knowing that 
she was indebted for it to Sallie, or, at least, in 
part, she went away with a warm interest in 
the unfortunate girl, and a firm belief in her 
innocence. “ Good bye, Sallie,” she said ; “ I 
know you are grateful for such kind friends, 


A NEW ARRIVAL. 


253 


and I feel assured that you richly deserve 
them.” 

Sallie’s throbbing heart would not allow her 
to reply ; but, as soon as Miss Wentworth was 
out of hearing, she exclaimed, “Oh, Mrs. 
Brice ! How wonderful it is that God should 
raise up another friend for me. I hope I am 
grateful to Him.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 


THE DECIDED MISS WENTWORTH. 

The next morning, soon after breakfast, Miss 
"Wentworth walked into the gate at Cherricot, 
and was met by the two girls, who seized each 
a hand, and led her into the house. 

“ You see, my dear madam, how gladly I 
avail myself of your kindness. This is the day 
appointed for me to begin with my teaching, 
and, as my pupil is with you, I must, if you 
please, pass the day under your hospitable 
roof.” 

a I like your promptness,” replied Mrs. 
Brice. “ Sallie, no doubt, is ready to begin 
her studies with you, for she was a good scho- 
ar with Mr. Hollister.” 


THE DECIDED MISS WENTWORTH. 


255 


Sallie. — Ah, Miss Wentworth, yon are too 
kind. Here I am, a poor forsaken orphan. 
The very clothes I have on belong to Jenny. 
Hot a friend on earth excepting these two — 
accused of theft, with no way to prove my 
innocence — indeed you are too kind. 

Miss Wentworth . — I have the means to 
prove your innocence. God, in his good pro- 
vidence, will enable me to make it as clear as 
the sun. 

Jenny jumped up and down, and cut most 
ridiculous capers. Mrs. Brice lifted her hands 
and eyes towards heaven, in pious thankful- 
ness, while Sallie, completely overwhelmed, 
threw her arms around Miss Wentworth’s 
neck and sobbed aloud. 

Miss Wentworth soothed and calmed her 
agitated mind, and, by degrees, led her to 
speak of her past and future studies. Mrs. 
Brice showed them into her quiet little parlor, 
where they passed the remainder of the morn- 
ing together. There was nothing at the single 
table of Mrs. Brice to shock the refined deli- 
cacy of one who had been accustomed to all 
the elegancies of life. Good manners and 


256 


QUEER BONNETS. 


neatness can give refinement, even where there 
is neither luxury nor splendor, and many a 
pompous, luxurious dinner is really more vul- 
gar than the plain, wholesome meal at which 
Mrs. Brice presided. Miss Wentworth, who 
had never before dined in a real cottage, was 
surprised to see the perfect ease of its mistress, 
and the genuine gracefulness of sweet Jenny 
Brice. 

As the young lady did not explain any fur- 
ther, with regard to Fairbank and her obser- 
vations there, no questions were asked. 

Frisk had been sent home, and was chained 
to his kennel. The dog pined and whined for 
his young friend, and was very much neglected 
at Fairbank, because he was obliged to bear 
the odium attached to a reclaimed runaway. 

Miss Mira was amazed at the independent 
course of the stranger, and, when she returned 
at nightfall, asked her, in no very civil words, 
or kindly tone, where she had passed the day ? 

“At Cherricot, teaching my pupil,” was the 
prompt reply. 

Miss Mira . — What, Jenny Brice? 

Miss Wentworth. — No; My bright Sallie. 


THE DECIDED MISS WENTWOKTH. 257 


Miss Mira. — Laws-a-me ! Why all the world 
has gone crazy ! I don’t know which end I 
stand on ! Your bright Sallie ? Why the gal 
didn’t know what the handle of a tea-cup was 
made for, and railly couldn’t find the way from 
her plate to her mouth at table. 

Miss Wentwwih. — Notwithstanding, she is a 
bright scholar. Good night, Ma’am. And the 
young lady took up one of the tall spermaceti 
candles in a silver candlestick, that stood upon 
the tea-table, and was going to her room. 

Miss Mira . — Put down that candle, Miss 
What-you-call-you. I don’t allow them candle- 
sticks to be hoisted up to our attic. 

Miss Wentworth , — (putting down the candle- 
stick and ringing the bell), Excuse me. 

Brown appeared, “ Bring me a chamber- 
candlestick, if you please,” said she. 

Miss Mira. — Laws-a-me ! If we haint got a 
mistress now, I’m mistaken ! Why you give 
out orders as though you belonged here ! 

“I do,” said Miss Wentworth, taking up the 
light the waiter had brought, and with a per- 
fectly dignified, easy manner, she walked out ot 
17 


258 QUEEK BONNETS. 

the dining-room, and ascended to her shabby 
44 sky-parlor,” 

The next day she passed at Oherricot in the 
same way she had done the day before. J enny’s 
books were just what she needed for an exami- 
nation of her pupil, to know what progress she 
had made. The ease and propriety of Miss 
Wentworth's manners seemed contagious ; for 
Sallie already began to show the effects. At 
table, even, she was losing the painful constraint 
with which she had been tortured at Fairbank, 
and acquiring the facility and dexterity in 
managing knife, fork, cup and spoon, without 
which, no person can be easy and graceful at 
meals. She listened with intense interest to 
the conversations between Mrs. Brice and Miss 
Wentworth, so unlike any she had ever heard, 
not about persons, dress, food, or the weather, 
but topics suggested by the varied information 
of both ladies ; literature, science, history, reli- 
gion. 

Jenny walked at evening with Miss Went- 
worth as far as the gate at Fairbank, and then 
bade her good night. Just as she turned her 
footsteps homeward, she heard the rattling of 


fBE DECIDED MISS WENTWORTH. 


259 


carriage-wheels, and looking back, saw that it 
was Mr. Newton’s carriage. She hastened 
home to carry the news. 

Mr. Newton reached the piazza just as Miss 
Wentworth was ascending the steps. He 
stepped out of the carriage, looking pale and 
haggard. Miss Wentworth met him with a 
cheerful smile. It seemed to him a mockery. 
In a grief-stricken tone, he said : 

“ Ah ! Miss Wentworth, you have come in 
vain to Fairbank. No traces of poor Sallie can 
I yet discover.” 

“ Come in, and be seated, sir, you look tra- 
vel-worn and weary.” 

Mr. Newton allowed himself to be led in, but 
as he stepped over the threshold, Miss Mira 
and Evelina appeared, the former exclaiming — 

“ Oh ! Timothy ! Timothy ! havn’t you found 
the stolen goods? We know where the thief 
is — safely catched in a mouse-trap, called Cher- 
ricot.” 

“ Please walk in here, sir,” said Miss Went- 
worth, opening the door of the drawing-room, 
and as soon as Mr. Newton was within, closing 


260 


QUEER BONNETS. 


it and turning the key. “ Now, please, sir, be 
seated ; and let me take your hat and gloves.” 

Mr. Newton obeyed as if he had been a little 
child. Miss Wentworth then rang for a glass 
of water. 

“ I have good news for you,” said she. 

“ No good news can come to me unless my 
daughter is proved innocent.” 

“ Your daughter !” exclaimed Miss Went- 
worth. 

“ Yes, poor Sallie is my own daughter, be- 
yond the possibility of doubt.” 

“ Thank heaven ! and a worthy daughter of 
so kind a father ! I supposed she was a deso- 
late orphan.” 

Mr. Newton . — Your voice to me is like that 
of an angel of mercy. Where is my child ? 

Miss W . — At Cherricot, with good Mrs. 
Brice. I commenced teaching her on Monday, 
the very day you named, sir. 

Mr. N . — But do you know the dreadful im- 
putation there is against her ? 

Miss W . — I do ; and can prove it false. 

“Merciful providence !” exclaimed Mr. New- 


THE DECIDED MISS WENTWORTH. 261 

ton, falling on his knees, and lifting his stream- 
ing eyes to heaven. 

After a momentary pause, Miss Wentworth 
said, “ You must need refreshment. Allow 
me to order a tray to be brought in here.” 

Mr. N . — Thank you ; but I am impatient to 
hear your explanation of this mysterious affair. 

“After tea! after tea!” said Miss Went- 
worth, as she pulled the bell again, in a very 
decided manner. 

“ There goes again !” exclaimed Miss Mira, 
who stood in the entry, near the door, not to 
say wdth her ear to the keyhole. She started 
back, and then, as if changing her mind, 
tapped at the door. Miss Wentworth, thinking 
it was the waiter, opened it, and there stood 
Miss Mira, in a perfect rage. Miss Wentworth 
calmly stepped out into the entry, and, closing 
the door after her, placed herself against it, 
and said, “ Mr. Newton is very much fatigued, 
and overcome by his journey and recent cir- 
cumstances ; I am going to ask for tea to be 
sent in to him.” 

“ Who made you mistress here ?” demanded 


262 


QUEER BONNETS. 


the enraged Miss Mira, fairly shaking her fist 
in Miss Wentworth’s face. 

Brown came at the moment, to answer the 
bell. Without taking farther notice of the 
angry woman, Miss Wentworth calmly re- 
quested him to bring in tea, on a tray, to Mr. 
Newton, as quickly as possible. She then 
opened the door, glided swiftly in, and again 
the key was heard to click in the lock. 

“ Excuse my peremptory manner, Mr. New- 
ton ; for Sallie’s sake I am compelled to act 
with decision.” 

u Thank you ; thank you a thousand times. 

I am a quiet man, and don’t know how to 
encounter a brawling woman. But indeed, 
Miss Wentworth, my impatience will not allow 
me to wait longer for the unsealing of your 
lips.” 

“ Here comes the supper. While you sip 
your tea, I will talk and talk, to your heart’s 
content. You may well call it unsealing, for I 
have kept the secret two days !” 

c< Let us have it then immediately, for your 
relief as well as mine,” said Mr. Newton, with 
a faint attempt at a smile, as Miss Wentworth 


THE DECIDED MISS WENTWORTH. 263 

carefully opened the door, to admit the waiter, 
and as carefully closed it after him. 

“You may leave now, Brown,” said she. 
“ I will attend to Mr. Hewton. Here, place 
the tray on this little table.” 

How shocked Miss Mira would have been, 
to see that splendid table of papier mache 
applied to any useful purpose. 

“Well now; to begin at the beginning of 
the end,” said Miss Wentworth, playfully, as 
she drew a chair to the other side of the table. 
“ First, though, sugar and cream, sir?” 

“ Both, if you please.” 

Miss Wentworth . — I was met at your door 
by the astounding intelligence of the exit of my 
pupil from Fairbank, and of your absence, sir. 
Then followed the still more astonishing story 
of the theft committed by the runaway. I will 
not dwell upon the ?mcordial reception I met 
with, for that is of no consequence. In spite of 
it, I made myself at home. An apartment in 
the attic story, which had probably been 
tenanted by a servant, was appropriated to me 
by the chambermaid. There was no lock upon 
the door. Fortunately I am not remarkably 


264 


QUEER BONNETS. 


timid, or I should have been much alarmed 
that night. 

About two or three hours after I had retired 
I was still awake, when some one cautiously 
opened the door and entered the room. I saw 
by the small lamp she held in her hand, Brid- 
get, the chambermaid, and then I closed my 
eyes and lay perfectly quiet. She stealthily 
stepped to the bedside and held the light, to 
discover if I were awake. My closed eyes and 
quiet breathing led her to suppose me asleep. 
She then went to a closet attached to the room, 
and brought out a band-box and some other 
articles. As she was about leaving the room I 
exclaimed — 

“Who’s there?” 

The girl started, appeared exceedingly alarm- 
ed, and at length said, 

“ Its only me, Miss.” 

“ What do you want here ?” 

“ Only some things of mine in that closet.” 

“ Well, shut the door and don’t disturb me 
again!” As soon as she had done so, I sprang 
upon the floor, for something brilliant that I 
saw drop from Bridget’s hand, as I called out 


THE DECIDED MISS WENTWORTH. 




Who’s there. I found the article thus dropped 
was a purse, I knew it by the feeling, and im- 
mediately placed it under my pillow. Here it 
is; (Miss Wentworth drew the green silk 
purse from her pocket and handed it to Mr. 
ISTewton,) fearing my nocturnal visitor might 
return, I fastened the door by putting my scis- 
sors over the latch. The precaution was not 
useless, for scarcely an hour had elapsed before 
Bridget was again at the door ; she had doubt- 
less missed the purse. 4 Who’s there,’ I cried 
in a very loud voice, hoping that some of the 
other servants would hear me. I presume they 
did, for soon after I heard hurrying feet and 
whispering voices. Every night since, I have 
secured the door, and whenever I have left my 
room I have been careful to lock my own 
trunks. 

Mr. Newton . — I am astonished at your cool- 
ness and courage, Miss Wentworth. You have 
saved a father from inexpressible wretchedness. 
I now long to see poor Sallie ; no longer poor 
Sallie , however, but my own Sabrina. 

Miss Wentworth. — Perhaps, sir, it would be 


266 


QUEER BONNETS. 


better for you to take rest to-night, and see tier 
in the morning. 

Mr. Newton . — Has she received an intima- 
tion that she was possibly my daughter ? 

Miss W . — Hot the slightest, I should sup- 
pose, from her conversations with me. 

Mr. Newton . — I have several very unpleasant 
matters still to manage, and only one of them 
will I attempt to-night. This purse contains all 
the money I gave Sabrina, and besides, her 
gold thimble. Poor dear child, who knows 
what terrible sufferings she may have endured 
since we parted. 

So saying, Mr. Hewton pulled the bell, and 
ordered the waiter to remove the tea-things, and 
then to call Bridget. A minute or two after 
Bridget came in, said he, “ Ask Miss Mira 
and Miss Evelina to come to the drawing- 
room?” The chamber-maid came pale and 
trembling. Ho sooner did she see the green 
purse in Mr. Hewton’s hand, than she fell on 
her knees, and exclaimed, “ Oh ! don’t send 
me to gaol. I never stole anything before in 
all my life.” 


THE DECIDED MISS WENTWOKTH. 267 

Just at this moment, Miss Mira and Evelina 
came in. 

“ Confess the whole truth, then, instantly,” 
said Mr. Newton. 

“ I will ; I will. I found the key of the best 
bed-room under the stair carpet when I was 
sweeping the stairs in the morning. I thought 
’twas so strange, I would just open the door. 
There was nobody there. Everything was left 
in nice order. I didn’t say anything, but locked 
the door again, and put the key in my pocket. 
After breakfast I was sent down to the village. 
The furren baker there told me about a girl 
that once lived with Mrs. Macer, how she had 
gone off that morning with a bundle under her 
arm, and Frisk with her. So, when I got back 
here, something whispered to me that I might as 
well have some of the nice things she had left, 
and so — and so — 

Mr. Newton . — You went and made your 
choice among them ? What else have you ? 

Bridget . — All but what Miss Evelina has 
took. 

Mr. Newton . — Miss Evelina! What do you 
mean by that ? 


263 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Bridget . — I mean she took the room, and all 
there was in it. She’s got on one of the very 
frocks now. 

Evelina . — I thought — I thought — as she 
wasn’t coming back, I might have what she 
left, as well as anybody else. 

Mr. Newton. — Girl ! Out of my sight this 
moment. Bestore every article you have taken 
to its place, and vacate the room you have 
usurped. 

As soon as Evelina had vanished, Mr. New- 
ton continued, “ And you, Bridget, bring forth 
your stolen goods. Miss Mira, go with the 
girl, and see that she produces all that she has 
taken.” 

Mr. Newton now threw himself down on a 
sofa, and remained silent till Miss Mira re- 
turned, bringing in the band-box, with its con- 
tents increased by some additions from his 
daughter’s wardrobe. 

“ Let me hope this is, indeed, your first 
offence. 1 Go, and sin no more.’ To-morrow 
morning you must leave my house, never to 
sleep within it again.” 

Bridget left the room crying vehemently. 


THE DECIDED MISS WENTWORTH. 


269 


Mr. Newton . — And now, Mira, you find that 
my daughter is innocent. 

Miss Mira . — Your daughter! Can you be- 
lieve she has been rusticated from the dead ? 

Mr. Newton . — That report of my child’s 
death was entirely a mistake. It is proved be- 
yond the possibility of doubt that Sallie is my 
own daughter, and as such she is to be received 
here to-morrow. Before she arrives I wish you 
to take leave. I shall settle upon you two 
hundred dollars a year for life. 

Miss Mira . — Leave to-morrow ! 

Mr. Newton. — Yes ; not another word to- 
night, if you please. Miss Wentworth, may I 
trouble you to open the door for Miss Cuffman. 

And Miss Cuffman stalked out of the room, 
for once speechless. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


A HAPPY DISCOVERY. 

The next morning the breakfast table at 
Fairbank was not honored by the presence of 
Miss Almira Cuffman and Miss Evelina Ander- 
son. Mr. Newton had, the night before, 
ordered their breakfasts to be sent to their own 
rooms. 

Miss Wentworth presided at the table, and 
a silent one it was, till just as they were about 
to rise ; then Mr. Newton said, “ Miss Went- 
worth, you deserve to have the pleasure of 
announcing to Sabrina, what I trust she will 
consider good news, that she is my daughter, 
and that I hope she will come with pleasure to 
take her rightful place in my house. You may 
take the carriage and go for her. During your 


A 1IAPPY DISCOVERY. 


271 


absence the stage-coach will be here to carry 
Miss Cuffman and Miss Anderson to a dis- 
tant city, where Mrs. Anderson resides. You 
will be spared from leave-taking. 

Miss Wentworth . — I will have the pleasure 
of announcing their departure to my pupil, and 
will inform her of Bridget’s confession. I leave 
the other delightful communication to be made 
by yourself. 

Mr. Newton . — Then you will please assure 
Mrs. Brice and Jenny of the fact, and ask that 
dear good lady to allow Jenny to come every 
day, and share your instructions with Sabrina. 

The carriage was soon at the door. Miss 
Wentworth sprang in with a more joyful conn* 
tenance than she had had since the death of 
her father, an event which happened only a 
year before. Miss Wentworth’s father had 
been, in early life, the friend of Mr. Newton, 
and now that his widow and children were re- 
duced from opulence to comparative poverty 
it was a great pleasure to the generous Mr. 
Newton to aid them in the way that best suited 
their independent character. 

, Jenny had told her young friend of the arri- 

/ _ 


272 


QUEER BONNETS. 


val of Mr. Newton, and Sallie dreaded the in- 
terview she must have with him, though she 
felt assured that Miss Wentworth had vindi- 
cated her character from the vile aspersions 
which had been thrown around it. 

One look at Miss Wentworth’s beaming 
countenance was enough to assure the anxious 
household at Cherricot that all was right. 
Sallie, convinced that Mr. Newton would for- 
give her for leaving Fairbank, drove off, with 
an effort at cheerfulness, which died away as 
she came near the place. Miss Wentworth 
kindly encouraged her, and begged her not to 
display any w^ant of gratitude to the kind 
Mr. Newton. 

Bailie . — Kind Mr. Newton indeed he is. I 
%m grateful for his wonderful generosity to 
poor me ; but then I am ashamed, dreadfully 
ashamed, to have caused him so much trouble 
and anxiety. What shall I say to him ? Oh, 
Miss Wentworth, tell me what I shall say to 
him? 

Miss Wentworth . — Leave that to the prompt- 
ings of your own heart, when you see him. 

When the carriage stopped, Sallie was Tillable 


A HAPPY DISCOVERY. 


273 


to get out without assistance. Miss Went- 
worth led her in, and left her in the dining- 
room with Mr. Newton. She stood before him 
with downcast eyes. He did not rise from his 
chair. 

' c Oh, Mr. Newton,” exclaimed she, “ Can 
you forgive poor Sallie for running away from 
you?” 

“ I can,” replied Mr. Newton,” much moved, 
“ but why did you leave me ?” 

“ Oh sir, there was something so strange and 
mysterious here, that I couldn’t bear it. In 
that bed-room the white curtains made me 
think of the death-bed of my mother. That 
picture made me think of my mother. Then I 
discovered some articles that belonged to my 
mother. This Bible was one (and she took the 
little book from her pocket), here was a name, 
with the same initials as those on my mother’s 
wedding-ring. The little gold ring that she 
slipped from her slender finger into my hand, 
when she was dying. Oh, sir, you are crying 
for pity ; how kind you are to a poor nameless 
orphan ! But, indeed, I could not stay here, I 
was unhappy, and I thought I would go and 
18 


274 


QUEER BONNETS. 


learn more about my blessed mother, from Mrs. 
Macer, and then find some place where I could 
work and earn money enough to pay you back 
what you had given Mrs. Macer for my time. 
Please, sir, don’t be so distressed for me ; your 
tears are too much for me. I would not give 
you pain, indeed, I would not ; please forgive 
me, and if there is any way that I can make 
up, for all the trouble I have caused you, tell 
me, and I will try with all my might to prove 
that I am not ungrateful.” 

“ My dear child ; my own Sabrina !” ex- 
claimed the father, pointing to the picture. 
“ She was, indeed, your blessed mother, and 
you are my own daughter.” 

Sadie stood for a moment as though turned 
to stone, but her eye caught the initials, “T. IST.” 
on the wedding-ring, which she had slipped 
from her finger as she was speaking of it, and 
the whole truth flashed instantly through her 
mind. She sprang forward, flung her arms 
about Mr. Newton’s neck, her head rested upon 
his shoulder, and there for a long time, she 
sobbed aloud. 

“ Now, my owp darling, calm yourself, and 


A HAPPY DISCOVERY, 


275 


tell me what has happened to you during your 
absence from Fairbank,” said Mr. Newton, 
laying back the dark ringlets from his daugh- 
ter’s forehead, and regarding her with fond 
auction. 

Sabrina related all her adventures till she 
came to the unkind reception she, and her good 
friends Joseph and his wife, had met on her 
return to Fairbank; then she hesitated, and 
could not proceed. 

“ I am fully aware of the facts which your 
generosity would keep back, but my dear child, 
you are truly noble ; not one word of complaint 
have I heard you utter against the persons by 
whom you were so cruelly treated.” 

“ Ah, Mr. Newton, they have been punished 
sufficiently. I am very sorry for them.” 

“Is it so difficult then, to call me father, 
Sabrina?” 

“ Did I say, Mr. Newton ? Oh, excuse^me, 
my heart says , father” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD. 

Not many hours had elapsed, before Sabrina 
was again established in her own delightful 
rooms, but, ah ! how different were the emo- 
tions with which she now took possession of 
those beautiful apartments.” 

Her warm heart thrilled with grateful affec- 
tion for her father. Again and again she re- 
peated to herself, “ How good God has been to 
poor me 1” 

Miss Wentworth, too, having removed from 
her attic, was a near neighbor to her pupil. 
Soon after she was quietly established, she 
knocked at Sabrina’s door, and said, “ You can 
leave the doors open between our rooms, if you 
feel lonely at night.” 


RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD. 277 

“ Thank you.” replied Sabrina, pointing to 
the cheval glass, “ I am not frightened at 
my own shadow any longer. I begin to know 
myself.” 

And Miss Wentworth, as she looked at the 
very pretty girl, did not wonder at her not being 
frightened to see herself; not knowing the 
superstitious dread which had so tortured the 
poor desolate orphan. 

u I want to go back to my childhood with 
you, and tell you a great many foolish things 
about myself,” continued Sabrina, “ if you will 
be so kind as to listen.” 

“ With the greatest pleasure,” Miss Went- 
worth said, as she seated herself and took Sa- 
brina affectionately by the hand ; u tell me 
with perfect freedom, everything you can re- 
member about yourself. Begin to day, and 
finish your story from time to time, as we have 
leisure.” 

Bailie . — “ Oh, it will be soon told ; there is 
very little in it to interest you.” 

Miss Wentworth . — You mistake, Sabrina; 
every life is wonderful, and if its history were 
told with perfect truth, must be interesting to 


278 


QUEER BONNETS. 


every human being who can think and feel. 
Do not fear being too minute, for I wish to 
know you thoroughly. 

Sallie . — Then I will begin as far back as I 
can remember. Isn’t it singular, that since I 
have been here, I can recollect many circum- 
stances which I before had forgotten 3 

Miss Wentworth. — ]STo, my dear ; the objects 
around you have suggested them, and memory 
thus quickened serves you faithfully. I am all 
attention and interest, go on. 

And Sallie went on and on, until Miss Went- 
worth was in tears ; then she stopped suddenly, 
and said, “ I will not tell you any more at this 
time, it is too bad for me to make you cry.” 

“ Oh, no, my generous Sabrina,, it is not your 
troubles and trials that make me weep — it is 
your magnanimous forgiveness of all who have 
injured you ; but it is time for us to retire. We 
will read our Bibles together every night be- 
fore retiring ; if you please, and say our prayers 
afterwards.” 

The words of Holy Writ and the simple 
petitions which followed, soothed and tranquil- 
lized the mind of Sabrina, and as she lay down 


RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD. 


279 


that night in her curtained bed, no superstitious 
fears haunted her. A calm, holy trust in God who 
had created, and redeemed her, had taken the 
place of superstitious awe. 


CHAPTEK XXXIII. 


sabrina’s party. 

Great excitement prevailed in the village ot 
Snowton. Invitations were sent out to all the 
children of the district school for a party. 
Sabrina Xewton’s party. Just before school 
commenced the children gathered about the 
school-house door. 

“ I never spoke a kind word to poor Sallie 
in all my life,” said one little girl. 

“ What’s more,” replied the boy to whom this 
was addressed, “ I always tormented her when 
I got a chance. I am afraid Mr. Xewton 
means to catch us in a trap, and give us all a 
right down scolding.” 

“ Yery likely,” said another, “ I used to make 
all manner of fun of poor Sallie’s mean frocks 


sabrina’s tarty. 


281 


and queer bonnets ; I wonder if she remembers 
it ; I want to go to this party, dreadfully.” 

“ So do I ; and I mean to go, come what 
will, “ replied one of the larger girls, “though 
I used to call poor Sallie “ a starved kitten.” 

“ Whose fault was it that she hadn’t enough 
to eat?” demanded the boy who had laughed 
at the mean frocks and queer bonnets , — “ Oh I 
never did that, it was too cruel. I shouldn’t 
think you would dare to go.” 

“ I will go, and if she presumes to say any- 
thing to me about it now, I will tell her she 
needn’t be so mighty proud. But here comes 
Jenny Brice, she was always Sallie’s friend, 
how glad she must be now. Suppose we ask 
her something about this party.” 

Several of the girls ran towards Jenny ex- 
claiming, “ Tell us all about the party that is to 
be given at Fairbank.” 

“ Oh it is going to be the most beautiful 
affair, that ever was seen. There is to be a 
large tent spread under the trees on the lawn, 
with tables filled with fruit, flowers, confec- 
tionary, ice-cream and everything delicious. 
Then there are to be prizes distributed — splen- 


282 


QUEER BONNETS. 


did prizes : I don’t know what they are to be 
for ; but I’ve seen them, and they are magnifi- 
cent. I mustn’t tell yet what they are. I 
suppose you are all going.” 

“ Yes ; yes. We are — we are,” replied 
dozens of them, the boy who had laughed at 
the mean frocks and queer bonnets, the loudest 
of all. 

“ Here comes Mr. Hollister, I wonder if he 
is going to the party,” said J enny. 

“ Ask him, ask him,” whispered the children. 

a Excuse me, sir, if you think it impertinent ; 
but we would like to know if you are going to 
Sabrina Newton’s party to-morrow.” 

“It is my intention; Jenny ; and I hope to 
meet all my scholars there. It is time now 
to go into school.” 

The next day was the eleventh of Septem- 
ber, Sabrina Newton’s birthday, and the party 
was given to commemorate that event. 

A large marquee, or tent was pitched upon 
the beautiful, smooth -shaven lawn at Fairbank. 
The tent was circular and the curtains could be 
drawn up, so as to form graceful festoons around 


SABRINA S PARTY. 


283 


it, with cords and tassels of blue and white be- 
tween each festoon. 

At four o’clock in the afternoon the children 
came trooping up the lawn in a body. They 
had waited at the gate until a large number 
assembled, because they felt sheepish and 
ashamed, and they had good reason to feel so. 
When they entered the spacious drawing-room, 
they were cordially received by Miss Went- 
worth and Sabrina. The latter was dressed in 
a simple white frock, and blue sash ; perfectly 
neat in appearance and graceful in manner. 
Some of the conscious schoolmates stuck their 
fingers in their mouths, some hung their heads 
on one side and raised their shoulders almost to 
their ears, and others kept their eyes fastened 
on the carpet, not daring to look at Sabrina. 

She came forward and addressed each by 
name, with a free, kind manner, that quite sur- 
prised them all. 

Harry Thomson was among the last who 
came. For the first time in his life he wore a 
long-tailed coat, and, moreover, he had mounted 
a standing collar. He came in, holding hat 
and cane in one hand, in the most approved 


284 


QUEER BONNETS. 


style, and bowing very low, he said in a hearty, 
cordial manner : 

“ Miss Newton, I am really glad to see you 
in your own home ; it is one of those delightful 
things that seem too good to be true, that you 
should be restored to your father. Oh ! there’s 
sweet Jenny Brice. I suppose, now I have 
entered college, 1 ought to call her Miss Brice. 
I must go and pay my respects to her.” 

And the smart young collegian stepped 
across the room, and made another low bow to 
Jenny. 

A band of music now struck up a lively air, 
and the shy, awkward company of school chil- 
dren were glad to be released from the stiffness 
of the drawing-room, and to wander about the 
garden, or dance upon the lawn. Mr. Newton 
had not made his appearance among them. 
Miss Wentworth looked out for all, to see that 
they were enjoying the party, while Sabrina 
mingled with them in their games, and their 
races around the garden, with genuine glee. 

At half-past five o’clock the curtains of the 
tent were drawn up, and the children gathered' 
from the garden and grounds to partake of the 


S 


sabrina’s party. 


285 


bountiful refreshments. The large table was 
beautiful decorated with flowers. In the centre 
was a tall pyramid, formed of little baskets 
filled with choice flowers. At each end of the 
table were similar pyramids, formed of books 
and toys. Then the fruit, cakes, ices, and con- 
fectionary were arranged with other flowers 
about the table, forming a magnificent display, 
such as the girls and boys had never supposed 
possible, excepting in the Arabian Nights’ En- 
tertainment. 

They gazed with, perfect rapture at the novel 
sight for some moments, forgetting that it was in- 
tended for any other purpose but to please the 
eye. But Mr. Newton came with Mr. Hollister 
to the tent, and begged the young people to help 
themselves freely to whatever they pleased, ex- 
cepting that they would not demolish the pyra- 
mids till they had satisfied themselves with the 
eatables. 

“ Mr. Thomson,” said Mr. Newton, “ you 
can help us wait upon the young ladies.” 

“ Certainly, sir,” said Harry, drawing off his 
straw-coloured kid gloves, and filling first a full 
plate for Jenny Brice. 


280 


QUEER BONNETS. 


He was followed by the big boy who had 
laughed at the mean frocks and queer bonnets, 
who showed no reluctance to partake of what 
was before him. And, in fact, the other girls 
and boys seemed to have forgotten everything 
but the enjoyment of the moment. 

When they had fully satisfied themselves with 
the feast, Mr. Newton, standing at the head of 
the table, said, “ You all know this party is 
given for my daughter, my long lost Sabrina, 
whom you have all known as poor Sallie. The 
wonderful providence of God has restored her 
to me, and I not only feel grateful to God for 
this merciful dispensation, but to every human 
being who has shown kindness to my dear 
child. In testimony of my gratitude to those 
who are here present, I have to offer some tri- 
fling mementoes.” 

“ Who, among you all,” he continued, “ can 
claim this watch, as a memento of the unvary- 
ing kindness shown to my daughter, when she 
was poor Sallie.” 

Mr. Newton held up a plain, but excellent 
gold watch, with a gold chain and a seal, on 
which was inscribed, “ Gratitude.” 


sabrlna’s party. 


287 


For some moments not a sound was heard ; 
then Harry Thomson spoke out loudly , — u Mr. 
Hollister.” 

Twenty voices or more echoed, “ Mr Hol- 
lister ! Mr. Hollister !” 

“ Is it a unanimous vote ? Hold up your 
hands, all who think Mr. Hollister deserves 
the watch,” said Mr. Hewton. Every girl and 
boy present, Sabrina included, held up both 
hands, and exclaimed, “ Mr. Hollister ! Mr. 
Hollister !” 

Mr. Hewdon handed the watch to the faith 
ful, kind schoolmaster, merely saying, “ Please 
accept it, sir.” 

Mr. Hollister bowed, without being able to 
utter a word, so entirely was he taken by sur- 
prise, and so completely overwhelmed by the 
willing, cordial testimony of his scholars. 

Mr. Hew ton then held up a beautiful work- 
box of rosewood, lined with crimson velvet, and 
filled with all the articles for needlework, of 
glittering steel, silver, and gold, saying : — 

“ And who deserves this, and much more 
than this, for unvarying kindness to poor 
Sallie.” 


288 


QUEER BONNETS. 


u Jenny Brice! sweet Jenny Brice!” shouted 
the whole group. 

And Mr. Newton handed the beautiful work- 
box to the blushing Jenny. 

He then took from his pocket a purse, con- 
taining $200 in gold. 

“ When my beloved child was lost, I offered 
one hundred dollars to any one who would 
give information where she might be found. 
A noble-hearted farmer and his kind wife 
brought her to her home, and to this day have 
claimed no reward. I have added another 
hundred, and consider it a very trifling testi- 
mony of the gratitude that fills my heart, when 
I think of their disinterested kindness and hos- 
pitality to my poor child. This, then, is for 
Joseph Plemson and his wife. From the pyra- 
mid of books and toys, Mr. Newton now took 
a splendidly bound copy of Wordsworth’s 
Poems, and said, “ Now, to whom shall I have 
the pleasure of presenting this book ?” 

The eager listeners hung their heads, and 
were silent. Again Mr. Newton repeated the 
question ; no reply came. “ Is it possible that' 


sauna’s pabty. 


289 


you cannot remember any acts of kindness 
shown to poor Sallie 

Still they were silent. 

Sabrina, blushing deeply, said, “ Harry 
Thomson was sorry when lie hit me once, and 
he spoke very kindly to me, the morning that 
I left Fairbanks 

Mr. Hew to n handed the book to Harry. 
“Ho, sir, no, sir, I cannot accept it! Indeed I 
do not deserve it,” replied Harry, earnestly. 

“ Then accept it as a testimony of Sabrina’s 
forgiveness,” continued Mr. Hewton, placing 
the elegant book in Harry’s unwilling hand. 

“ And is there no one else who can claim a 
tribute from this pyramid ?” 

Silence again, and blushes of shame and 
contrition on many a youthful face. 

Sabrina whispered to her father a few words, 
and he then said : — . 

“My daughter wishes me to distribute these 
gifts among you, as tokens of her entire fore- 
giveness. As I hold them up she will name 
the girl or boy who is to receive them.” 

This was, indeed, “ heaping coals of fire on 
their heads.” Many were melted to tears ; 


290 


QUEER BONNES. 


and, as some beautiful book or interesting toy 
was held up, and Sabrina called out the name 
of a schoolmate who had ridiculed or tormented 
her, the conscience-stricken culprit came for- 
ward, trembling and ashamed, to receive the 
gift, and some of the younger children said, 
44 Oh, I am sorry, very sorry !” 

After all who were present had received a 
gift, Mr. Newton said : — 44 Henceforth I trust 
you will all remember to be kind and consi- 
derate towards the poor and unfortunate. And 
now I propose three cheers for faithful Frisk, 
who remembered his young mistress, and did 
not desert her because she was a poor orphan.” 

Fairbank echoed with the shrill cheer of the 
children, and Frisk joined in the chorus with a 
joyful bark. 

44 And now, sweet Jenny Brice,” continued 
Mr. Newton, “ you may distribute the baskets 
of flowers, from the central pyramid, among 
our young friends, and then we will bid them 
good evening.” 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 


THE WISE GRANDMOTHER 

“ Grandma, I can’t understand why you will 
not let me go to Fairbank every day, and take 
lessons of Miss Wentworth, when dear, good 
Mr. Xewton urges it so much.” 

The tone in which Jenny Brice uttered this 
little speech was quite different from the usual 
sweet tone of her charming voice. It had a 
touch of complaint in it not agreeable to the 
ear of her grandmother. Mrs. Brice with some 
sternness of manner replied, 

“ I will not consent to your taking lessons in 
what are called ‘ the higher branches of educa- 
tion,’ because you might be thereby unfitted 
for the station in which providence has placed 
you.” 


292 


QUEER BONNETS. 


Jenny . — But who knows but I may have as 
good Inch as Sallie, and be rich one of these 
days. 

Mrs. Brice . — I am grieved, my dear child to 
hear you speak in this way. Good luck! there 
•is no such thing. Your condition in life is 
appointed you by God himself. Hitherto you 
have been perfectly contented with it. Oh, 
Jenny, you have disappointed me. 

Jenny . — Oh grandma ! don’t say so. I see 
now how it is. I have been too much delight- 
ed with the beautiful things I have seen at 
Fairbank, and so I have been, what you call, 
building castles in the air. I have imagined 
some rich uncle might leave me a fortune. 

Mrs. Brice . — How absurd ! you have no 
rich uncle — you might as well expect a lump 
of gold as large as a barrel, would fall at your 
feet from the moon. 

Jenny. — Grandma, please don’t make fun of 
me ; I see I have been very silly and wicked. 

Mrs. Brice . — You are not alone in this 
respect, my child. Many young persons infer 
from a single, rare instance like that of Sabrina 
Hewton, that what they call good fortune. 


TIIE WISE GRANDMOTHER. 293 

will come to them from some unknown quarter, 
when there is not a bars possibility of such a 
change in their outward circumstances. God 
does exalt one and debase another again ; not 
by a turn of “ the wheel of Fortune ” as it is ir- 
reverently termed, does he raise the fallen as in 
the case of Joseph, who was exalted to be next 
to Pharaoh. — Poor Sallie, like Joseph, has had 
her night of sorrow and affliction. She did not 
see the hand oP her Heavenly Father in all 
this, as did the son of Jacob ; yet for wise and 
good reasons, he has brought her out of this trial, 
and now gives her another — namely, the trial, 
of prosperity. Do you think Sallie’s road to 
Heaven is made more easy by this change ? 

Jenny . — I think it is, because she has now 
the kind, religious Miss Wentworth to instruct 
her, and to guide her by her beautiful example. 
But truly, grandma, I don’t think it would 
make my path to heaven less difficult, for 
riches would be a great temptation to me. 

Mrs. Brice . — Why a greater temptation to 
you than to Sabrina Newton ? 

Jenny . — Because she cares less for them than 
any person I have ever known, she would give 


294 


QUEER BONNETS. 


away to-morrow, every earthly thing that she 
possesses, and not feel the loss. 

Mrs. Brice . — But God has made her now 
responsible for the right use of riches and will 
call her to an account as his steward. Let us 
hope and pray that through His blessing she 
may be enabled so to employ them as to receive 
at last the blissful sentence, “ Well done, good 
and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of 
thy Lord.” Evelina Anderson passed through 
the same trial and was found wanting. She 
became haughty and cruel, and has returned 
to her dishonest mother to be a greater trouble 
to her than before. A fearful lesson does this 
teach for those who aim at a worldly position 
to which God has not appointed them. 

Jenny . — Oh grandma ! please say no more. 
I have always been contented and thankful, 
and I am, if possible more so than ever, when 
I consider how tremendous is the responsibility 
Which has now come upon poor Sallie. 









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